connecting and thriving

I've been meeting lots of new students on my caseload and something struck me. In fact, it's something that has been resurfacing in my mind. Those students, those people that seem to thrive the most are the ones that are willing to make connections. They're not the most adept ones necessarily, they still say awkward things, but the ones that I think will thrive are willing to connect with others.

It can be in a quiet sort of way. It can be in the animated sort of way. You know those people who extend their figurative hand and offer you something that seems unique? It's not always an easy thing to do, but acting as though you are 1. glad to see that person whether you expected the interaction or not and 2. genuinely interested and invested in what the other person has to say goes a long, long way. 

I'm looking at this little sample or microcosm of people. And there will always be outliers, but I think the ones that will thrive and enjoy this life are the ones that are willing to make a connection and make you others like they were glad to have talked.

woven story

When I'm doing my "best" and by "best", I mean - feeling the most like myself, I am able to write. 

Specifically, short stories that are mostly fictional, but inspired by my own life. There something about seeing a situation from a narrator's perspective that brings added beauty and significance. A feeling, a moment, an exchange - they become a pivotal part of a plot (ooh lots of alliteration there!) that, at first, seemed temporal at best. That's life, I think. Moments that seemed unimportant, but as you look back - you see how it was woven into an intricate pattern.

(part two of post that is loosely related...)

Why do we feel compelled to visit places from our past? Or, why do we feel compelled to avoid them? Are we hoping that it'll look exactly the same? Completely different? The paint has faded or a new owner has moved in. That boutique is an electronics store now. 

Do you remember how you felt when you were there? The hope? The desolation? The people who were your friends, but are no longer? Or maybe you text them pictures of your own haunts with a message that only insiders would understand. 

Those years and those memories. Whether bringing joy or pain - they were worth it. Sometimes I think to myself - what was the point of that happening? Why did that last/not last? Things could've been so different.

I have to remind myself of who Jesus is in the midst of that woven tapestry. The deepest of hurts. The most triumphant of victories. He was there when I cried by myself in my room. He was there when I was sitting with someone who would become a dear, dear friend. 

He walks through it and with us. Those things from years ago. They happened. I'm praying that I will see Jesus in the retelling of my story. And I'm praying that I will see him as my story continues to unfold. 

will you please?

Life has been harder. This summer was a flat line of rest, inactivity, lazing that was interspersed with spikes of high activity. Friends' weddings, long weekend trips to various places. I got a lot of sun. Didn't read even a fraction of the number of books I planned. My soul rested, but didn't feel completely at rest. What was it? Where was the disconnect?

My new job started and the anxiety that had been dormant was made alive in a ferocious, almost crippling vice grip. I didn't know anything. I couldn't work fast enough. I didn't have any answers. I wasn't enough. My thoughts and self felt pulled to all four corners of the Earth. I wasn't in a great place.

But that's how I'm made. The older I get, the more I see it and feel it. I'm sensitive. I feel change acutely. I feel my lack acutely. I feel disapproving (or what feels like it) eyes acutely. 

I've lived with fear and anxiety my whole life. There's something ingrained in my DNA that generates it. My whole self has been formed around it. And that scares me. 

What can break through the seemingly bottomless cavern of dark fear that permeates into my soul? 

I grasp and cling to the Cross. There can be no darkness where there is light. Jesus gets close to us, looks us in the face, and loves us. Where there is love, there is no fear. 

I reread a passage of The Bronze Bow by Elizabeth George Speare. Jesus, during his ministry, walked around and healed people of their diseases. He does that now. Today. He sits with us and brings his peace that cuts through the hate, the fear, the lies. He envelopes us with himself. Someone who sees us and loves us. I'll say that again - He sees us and he loves us. In the history of all the people in all the world, we will never find another love like that.

We need only say to him - "Will you please come into this place? This heart that has yearned for peace. For rest. For love. I'm tired and weary and I just can't do this anymore. Jesus, I need you now more than ever."

ritual

There's little I love more than drinking a cup of coffee on a Saturday morning. The steaming aroma that, even as child, seemed so delightful even if the taste was horrible. The warmth radiating into my hands. Taking slow sips with the perfect blend of full-fat cream mixed into it. 

Most people know about the power of sensory memory. A song can take you back to a moment etched in time. I heard somewhere that smell is one of the most powerful. I swear I smell something on certain days and I immediately think of my summer in Australia. I have no idea what it is - but it's happened many times. 

Coffee drinking on Saturday mornings takes me back through the past 7ish years. Sitting in my first house with my three housemates. The decor and furniture of our rented home was that of a grandmother, not 3 twenty-something young women. Sitting in a tiny apartment in a new city that I shared with a dear friend. We'd extend our morning coffee ritual until the early afternoon sometimes. We'd talk and sip, talk and sip some more. I moved again and this time, I had a balcony. I'd watch the sun rise those mornings and the joggers on the sidewalk below. Morning air has such a distinct smell and I'd breath that in with the aroma of coffee. I felt so blessed. 

I've moved several times since then. The mugs, the house, the people might be different. But the ritual remains. Silence, coffee, thinking.   

sober living

I watched a movie that had been rated with only 3 stars on Netflix so my expectations were fairly low. I can't say I liked it, but it stuck with me. It was one of those examples of how incredibly hard life is - and the things we do to try and get from day to day. 

Sandra Bullock starred in 28 Days (2000) and portrayed an alcoholic, drug-abusing life-of-the-party. Rather than be sent to jail for destroying a private residence while under the influence, she checks into rehab and proceeds to break every rule in the book. 

What struck me the most were the rehab inhabitants' stories. Whether it was pills, booze, sex, or something else - they had each found something to "manage" through life. A voiceover of Sandra Bullock's drug counselor stated in his own testimonial as a recovered drug addict that if people only knew how hard it was for them to get through life sober, they wouldn't let them - they would willingly hand them more pills or more alcohol or more whatever it is. If they only knew how painful it was to be sober.

I looked at these fictitious accounts and realized that God looks at us and knows how hard it is. Life. And we try so, so hard to just get through it. We might have a traumatic past. An abusive relationship. A mind-numbing job. Chronic pain. Debt. A hopeless future.

I don't want to feel this so I won't. Life pain outweighs any other type of pain.

What brave souls to choose a sober life when it seems so much easier to be numb to it all. Isn't this situation the definition of the fall? We were meant to enjoy life abundantly. Instead, life becomes a grotesque perversion. Unhealthy relationships, misordered loves. Whatever it may be. We look at the mess and we have a choice - engage it or don't. 

I think Jesus looks at those rehab inhabitants (and really, all of us) with such love and compassion. He wants us to take all the sh*t and say, "Jesus, this is too much for me. Please take it."

He doesn't give us pills to numb us. Or a boyfriend/girlfriend to fill the void. He gives us himself - his entire self because he knows how painful life is. He knows we can't do it alone. He wants to walk with us.

*spoiler alert*

The movie ends with Sandra Bullock taking one brave step towards daily living while sober. There are no fireworks, no public citations of courage. She breaks ties with her drug-abusing fiancee. She is walking through the city when she sees a former rehab friend. They laugh together, they cry together. We weren't meant to do this alone.  

asking Jesus into your heart: then and now

When I was four years old, I sat in a circle on a rough carpet. The Sunday school teacher asked us if anyone wanted to ask Jesus into their heart. I joined the collective prayer. To me, Jesus seemed like this authoritative, distant figure who somehow knew us really well, too. If asking Jesus "into my heart" was what I was supposed to do then I would oblige. I didn't feel like I had to otherwise I'd receive an unknown punishment, but instead - it felt like it was the appropriate thing to do.

When I was seven, I remember looking at my ceiling in the dark, hands folded and beseeching the Lord into my heart. A deep-seated fear had begun to grow in my little mind that maybe the first time around hadn't "stuck." Maybe Jesus hadn't heard me. Maybe it needed to become a repetitious declaration in order to have meaning. I never felt a sense of satisfaction in my contrite beseeching, but it seemed better than ignoring the gnawing feeling.

I grew up. The nightly ritual of asking the Lord to come into my heart was long gone, but it was replaced with a sense of unworthiness. Instead of coming to the Lord with open, dirty hands and heart, I would hide. I would show half my face thinking that was good enough. I gave him permission into certain areas, but only so far. We'd sit in the formal waiting room and sip our tea in silence. Once in the darkness, I would mourn my dissatisfaction. My loneliness. My hopelessness. My disdain. 

I'm no longer that little girl in a floral church dress. Or a floundering high school or college student. Or even a recent college graduate. I'm learning to extend my trembling hands in offering to the Lord. I'm asking him again into my heart. My heart that's been diminished within an inch of its life. Offered to false gods. Frozen into unfeeling and fear. 

God, please once again come into my heart and make it come alive. Healed of its diseases. Satisfied with the goodness of purity and your presence. Jesus, I didn't know this when I was four. Asking you to come into my heart was a one time thing. But asking you to dwell there is not. I don't want it to be an obligation out of fear. It's an invitation out of love. Because you don't barge into a closed door in anger and vindictiveness. 

I ask you, Lord Jesus, to come into my heart into those places that are hopeless and beyond my knowing. I didn't know that the simple words as a child would become the words I'd utter in my most vulnerable, dark moments.  

Jesus, come into my heart. I believe you are who you said you are. 

weary

I don't even realize it's happening 99% of the time. I know after the fact. When I'm exhausted and weary. When I feel like a stage performer who's had two encores. 

The inauthenticity is burdensome and draining. 

I've been laboring and trying so hard to keep up an appearance of acceptability. It's been happening for so long that I wonder what is the charade. 

In the silence and solitude, I want to extract the memories of times I tried too hard. I labored too hard to be something I wasn't. More funny. More sociable. More smiling. 

I want to take those memories and replace them with grace. With rest. With the comfort of knowing that I only have to be myself. 

Do you feel like you're laboring? Like me, do you willingly step onto a treadmill at a speed that's too fast and now, you don't know how to step off of it? 

Come to me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. - Jesus

to have courage

Gratuitous love of Harry Potter post:

You've been warned. To expound though, I love Harry Potter (not getting a Harry Potter inspired tattoo-level love) like I love other epic sagas.

The aspect of stories that draws me in like a moth to flame is the "little guy", the seemingly harmless character drawing courage from somewhere deep inside and then, makes a difference.

In Harry Potter, it's the character Neville Longbottom.

He's a sub-par student, wizard, and overall buffoon.

Not to spoil anything, but he does make a difference.

He knows how he comes across to others. But deep inside, he also knows that he has the strength to stand up for something good. But it's been stuffed into the part that seems too good to be true.

Isn't that the dream? But we're afraid of ourselves. We've been told we're not talented enough. We compare ourselves. I'll slink back and wait.

But there's also that moment when you have to stop watching and act. You have to remember that you, too have courage. Open your mouth and speak the words of life in a lifeless situation. Do something good.

Most people relate to that guy in one way or another. The Neville Longbottoms of this world. There's so many of them. But when they finally realize the caliber of their own being, everything changes.

the greatest of these is love

I sat near the end of a pew in an old church. The rolling hills of Pennsylvania stretched outside the windows underneath multi-colored stained glass. The overhead fans churned up cooler air as we fanned ourselves with paper ones like tent revival participants.   

The preacher stood and greeted us. It would be a homily like the 46 others I'd listened to before. His words were light, but delivered enough solemnity that was appropriate for the occasion. Two people entered this building, but something miraculous would happen. They would pledge their lives to one another and that is something to leave us in awe. Two would become one.

What would possess this declaration? 

Love. 

The reader spoke the words of 1 Corinthians. The passage has been used in ceremonies around the globe; its words varying in its potency. For the first time in a long time, I really listened.

Love is patient. Kind. Isn't Proud. Not self-seeking. Always hopes. Always perseveres. Love never fails.

What else can be described this way? And moreover, is it really possible for something like that to exist?

I was embarrassed by my initial, jaded reception of this - this truth. Its words brought something dormant back to life. Weddings have become overblown events with more focus on floral arrangements or the variety of songs on the playlist. They're monumental crazy-makers. But love. It's uncomplicated in my world that becomes overly complicated.

Love is unconditional. It's what I'm trying to pray for each morning with outstretched arms. Jesus, I pray for your love that's unconditional. 

This kind of love doesn't hurt us. It doesn't leave us feeling hollow or lacking. It cuts through the pain and the hurt and the shame. And it never fails if we just let it permeate into our boarded up, wounded lives. Lord, let your love do something in my heart. Help me to not cling to the things - anything - around me in which I try to find acceptance, validation, love. Help me to love because you love me. 

The newly pronounced man and wife beamed as they were presented. Their faces were glowing and the only word I could use to describe the moment is love. 

Their love will have that complicated hurt that comes with being in a fallen world. But what a beautiful thing to come as close as a human can to the kind of love Christ has for us this side of heaven. 

I pray for this kind of love for all of us. A love with a source that is all of these things: ever hopeful. Kind. Patient. Never failing.

We left the ceremony for the reception. It was located on their family's farm and the expansive view of greenery was overwhelming. We danced under stars and strung lights. We celebrated their love. 

reality of fear: then and now

But let all who take refuge in you be glad; let them ever sing for joy. Spread your protection over them, that those who love your name may rejoice in you. 

Psalm 5:11

I decided to revisit the book, The Bronze Bow by Elizabeth George Speare. I reread it a few years back and even blogged about it. Something about this book has stuck with me since originally reading it in elementary school. It takes place during the time of Jesus. He was living and walking the Earth. His reputation was growing and people, even in remote areas had begun to hear about him. 

It was a time that was filled with everyday terror. The Romans were feared. And hated. The thought of living under such tyranny seems completely foreign. I don't know starvation. I don't know what it would mean to witness the slaughter of my people. I don't know real injustice like that in my own life. 

That's the time of early Christians. Real injustice. Real fear. Fear of not only persecution, but death. 

And there was this man named Jesus, preaching boldly and telling people to love their enemies. To pray for those who persecute you.

Hello? Excuse me, sir? Love the Romans? Pray for them? Uh, no.

I can see myself being that person. But it's mainly because I was so afraid of them. They ruled and they hated me.

My fears dwarf when I think of that kind of fear. 

Books like The Bronze Bow allow me think of what Jesus was saying and living in the context of their reality. We read those words and they resonate with us. But when we suspend our own everyday and think about what his words meant in the face of death. Of real fear. Wow. 

The Zealots of the day turned their fear into rage. Overturning the enemy with force and sometimes, the sharp end of a blade. But Jesus entered onto the scene and spread such a different message.

He calls us to love, pray, and forgive. We find refuge in Him. He protects us. And in that process, we will sing for joy. 

Sing for joy. Early Christians read those words and it meant something to them. His protection meant something. His presence meant life over death. Love over hate. Hope over despair. Joy over fear.

the time I almost threw my sandals into the East River

I was excited. Today was the day I was supposed to get my new sandals in the mail. As I opened the cardboard box and lifted out those awaited sandals, it hit me. 

I'm old.

Okay, I know I'm not "old". Whatever that means anyway. I'm certainly older than quite a few people. After spending about 15 minutes with a sixteen-year-old, I thank my lucky stars I'm not that age anymore.

I felt old because I was getting my comfortable walking sandals in the mail. I couldn't care less (okay, maybe I care a little) about looks. My main concern was whether or not I could walk over 5 miles in them. 

Five years ago, when I was a foolish youth, I vacationed in NYC. I proceeded to walk all over the island of Manhattan wearing the thinnest, least-cushioned sandals in the world. But I looked on-point fashion-wise. As I crossed the Brooklyn Bridge, I remember wanting to rip those infernal sandals off and throw them into the East River. And hailing one of those bicycle taxis while howling in pain. I think I limped for the next two days. Just imagine walking barefoot for several miles. Now imagine wearing something that is less supportive than your own foot. You get the idea.

Maybe I'm overdramatizing for effect, but it was awful. And then, I realized this is one of those things that you have to learn with age. Someone older and wiser could not have convinced me that wearing sensible, comfortable shoes in order to walk 389 miles in NYC is advisable (read: imperative). I probably would've looked at their ugly Danskos and rolled my eyes.

Life lesson #42: when walking long distances, wear comfortable shoes. And it doesn't really matter what they look like.

my 2 cents (romance edition)

It's been awhile since I've written about my favorite topic. And by "favorite", I mean nebulous, uncharted waters. 

Romantic relationships.

Ew. Even writing that out makes me feel like a second-grader talking about liking boys. It's strange to think how little I know even after all these years of...well, not knowing. 

So, what do I know? I'll try to make this concise. And to the interested 2.3 people who read this blog, you're welcome (disclaimer: these are the thoughts of someone who is not an expert and is on the JV squad of romantic relationship knowledge.)

1. all relationships go through seasons. Even family relationships. So, when it comes to romantic relationships, it's like having two people walk into a dark room, introducing them, and then periodically having one of them put on sound-silencing earplugs without the other knowing. Miscommunication and vulnerability abound. Sometimes, you feel like you're totally on the same page. Yes! We like the same things and seem to be really jiving. Other times, who is this person? Have we ever met? The point is, as long as the general trajectory is moving in the same direction, you're good - and the season progresses.

2. openness is the first step. Maybe this should have been the first bullet point. OH well. Openness with someone you're romantically interested in is like the indicator on a store-front window with the paper sign that says, "yes, we're open". Like the eye-catching signage or the annoying guy dressed in a chicken suit on the sidewalk, openness lets the other party know that you have something they want. 

2b. Signs of openness: eye contact (are you making it?), posture (are your arms always crossed? is your back hunched inward? try hands on hips in a non-sassypants way with your shoulders back), and try not to limit yourself to only people you know (have you met the person on the other side of the room? maybe try to meet them.) Laughing is good too. Not obnoxious-laughing-at-inside-jokes-only type laughter, but the kind that includes other people.

3. leave bread crumbs. The discovery of this point was through observing another friend. She'd leave these "bread crumbs" of opportunity to the other by saying things like, "you like ____? we should do _____ sometime!" That sounds a little forward, but dress it up however you want. You find out the person spends his time doing _______. Show interest. After a few conversations, young Hansel may (read: may not) remember that you also like, for example, going hiking so he'll invite you the next time. And even if he doesn't, you were creating opportunities which is arguably 67% of the battle. Side note, 'bread crumbs of opportunity' is a phrase that I will have to copyright sometime.

4. ENGAGE. This is closely related to openness and opportunity. It's like the marriage between the two. Don't be afraid to show your interest in him. I'm not saying you should be overzealous and ask him out on a date (some women would highly disagree with this statement), but there is nothing wrong with showing that you would like to go on a date with him.

5. make your peace. You've done the ground work. You've shown interest in various activities, you haven't stamped a large eff-off on your forehead, and you've tried to be as open and vulnerable to show that you would say 'yes' if he would only ask. 

At this point, you wait. As a wise woman told me (hi, Mom!), "to be a woman is to wait." I'm practicing these steps as we speak and in the process, I see something else happening. 

By practicing openness, I am becoming more open. By being interested in other activities, I realized the world becomes bigger.

And regardless of whether I end up with "the one" at the end of this 5 step process on repeat, being open to opportunities and life in general is such a good, life-giving thing. 

still wanted, always wanted

I've messed up too much.

I'm too tired. 

What's the point?

Just leave me alone.

I still want you.

This sermon addresses the topic that makes us grimace. Squirm a little in our seats. Makes us excuse ourselves from the room. Avert our eyes. Cross our arms protectively.

Shame. 

It's true. Once you realize what shame really is (in its many forms) - you see it everywhere. I hear it in the narratives of almost everyone I know. I ate too much, I feel so gross. I'm not dressed nicely enough to go there. I felt so stupid for being upset. 

Shame is insidious and toxic. I realized how much shame had run rough-shot in my own life and was astounded. My tank was full and I had been running on high-grade shame. No matter what I did, said, or or looked - I was never good enough. I internalized it, projected it onto others, ignored it.

Where does that leave us, weary shame-filled souls?

In a clear voice, without a touch of irony or own personal gain - He says, "I still want you."

You are worthy. Your love, your work, you. 

Me? Am I willing/able to be wanted? Loved? Seen as valuable?

Jesus, will you please take me into your arms and allow me to be loved? I don't know how to do that because I've lived so long believing with every fiber of my being that I wasn't worth it.  

Grace. A belief, even if it is a nascent one, that what we are - is worth something. He goes to that place that hurts so much we think we will die and offers us grace and love and hope and mercy and an invitation to live with a tank full of them. Those other voices of shame will dissipate as we begin to believe such audacious, beautiful, life-giving truth that I am still wanted.

I'm going to say it again - you are wanted.

simple

Have I lived enough?

Have I loved enough?

Have I considered Right Action enough, have I come to any conclusion?

Have I experienced happiness with sufficient gratitude?

Have I endured loneliness with grace?

I say this, or perhaps I'm just thinking it.  

Actually I probably think too much.

Then I step out into the garden,

where the gardener, who is said to be a simple man,

is tending his children, the roses.

- Mary Oliver, The Gardener

It can't all be navel-gazing and over-thinking. Just live and make it your ambition to lead a quiet life.

from the land down under

Many, many moons ago, I spent a summer in Australia for an internship with a global missions organization. Australia may seem like a strange place to go for missions. And in a way, it was. It's a developed country not lacking indoor plumbing. They have access to paved roads and central air-conditioning. 

But there is need. Fact is, there's need everywhere. 

[Confession: I went there because I thought it seemed cool. I'm glad it's finally out there. Kangaroos, the accent, exotic beaches, please and thank you.]

I didn't end up doing anything touristy. Nothing exotic. In fact, where I was living, there wasn't even - gasp - a Starbucks! (That does make it sound more worthy of missionaries now that I mention it.)

Other than picking up some Aussie slang (e.g. "no worries", "good on you"), I left with very little of the traditional going-abroad experience. The people I hung around with weren't even native Aussies. They were ESL students from various Asian countries and my host family was from Wales. 

What I lacked in tourist-knowledge and experience, I more than made up for interpersonal steroid-like growth.

I learned from being in a strange country for 2 months was that I could stop being embarrassed. I had the option to let go of my own suffocating pretense and just be myself.

That was a heavy load I'd been carrying for... well, my whole life. You see, when you place yourself in a foreign country with people you have literally just met that day and you're also severely jet-lagged, you act on instinct. There's no time to ponder, "how will people perceive me? is this cool?"  You just do.

And in that process, for me, I began to creep out of my cage of shame. When you live a life of predetermined expectations where the lines of who you are and what you say and how you act are deeply etched, there's very little deviating. I do this because I've always done this. I'm this person because I've always been this person. I can't be anything else. I'll say that again because it's such an insidious, toxic lie - I can't be anything else.

In truth, I was living a life in which I didn't love who I was and who I'd become. But it was too late. I was doomed to exist with the deficiency of wishing I could be that person I wanted to be. 

Days turned into weeks. And months. I was told to become a leader, to speak in front of people who wanted to hear what I said. Me? You want me to share who I am? No more hanging back in the shadows. No more self-loathing and embarrassment, asking others for permission to be myself. I looked into their faces and all I saw was acceptance. 

They embraced me and cared for me. Why? Because I was me. What beauty! What hope! What redemption!

I left those two months, changed. No more hiding. No more shame. No more embarrassment. The message I received from the faces, words, and embraces of strangers, a message that would change my life, was that I was acceptable. I was worthy.

Amen.

broken becomes something

I was chatting with a friend earlier and she said, "I'm grateful for you that this chapter is coming to an end."

A chapter is coming to an end that, at many, many times, seemed eternal. Two years ago, I wore a cap and gown, walked a stage, and accepted a diploma credentialing me for a career. I was hopeful. I was scared. I didn't know what was waiting for me after I climbed down those stairs of the stage.

I look back at e-mails beseeching friends for prayer. Clinging by my weary finger tips for hope, for clarity, for an end to this road that's been rough and unrelenting.

I am brought to weepy tears when I think about it. How hard it was and how hopeless I felt. How misplaced, displaced, and out of place I felt. To have no home, no permanency. Jesus, is that how you felt? I think you knew exactly how badly this felt. You lived it, too. You had no place to lay your head. People lauded you, but at other times, you were cursed by angry, murderous mobs. 

You know the feeling of wanting to belong, to be safe, but knowing that is just not possible. Through it all, your Father was there. He loved you and you knew that. You lived in it. You allowed him to weave his heart-breaking, life-giving story into yours. 

And friends, that's what we weary sojourners do as well. We accept his calling in its varying shapes - the hard, the good, the triumphant, the soul-crushing. It's all life-giving if we let him. We open our broken hands, bloody and bruised, and whisper, "Jesus, please take this life. Allow your story that only gives hope and peace to become something in my life. That person who passes me in the street, talks to me in line, or watches as I live my life, allow them to see you."

I am nothing. But with you, I'm something. Thank you.

something I don't like

Like most young evangelical Christians growing up, I often heard the phrase: "God doesn't give you more than you can handle."

First, I hate this. Second, I hate this. And third, well... you get the point.

Why do I hate it, you may ask? 

After I got over my seething hatred, I realized the reason why I disliked it so much. This saying burrows GUILT into its receiver. We get the message: "you've been given what you can handle by GOD. Who knows you so well.... but wait. You still think it's too much? Are you second-guessing God?"

The young Christian quivers, questioning themselves and feeling oppressed by His sovereignty in knowing how much we can handle. But I don't think I can handle it so...

Also, I think it's COMPLETELY MISSING THE POINT. I think the original writer of this phrase had good intentions. Yes, we are God's creation and He IS sovereign. He knows. And maybe we are a little more equipped than we give ourselves credit. But at the end of the day, with this phrase, it makes me feel so unknown by God. He's like an assembly line chute that dumps a lot on me without any knowledge of my small arms and hands that can barely reach.

I think the better way of putting it is - sometimes, God gives us more than we can handle so that we can learn to rely on him. 

Definitely not as pithy or catchphrase-y. But I think it's a more sound theology AND it allows us to see who we are and who God is in a more accurate way. We were made weak in order to see and need God's strength. 

That is about a 180 degree difference from what I want, from what the culture says, from what is applauded, etc. After all, I'm a grown-ass woman and I want to be able to do EVERYTHING. 

But no. If there's anything I've learned, it's that we need constant rehabilitation. We need to stop trying so dang hard to stop being lonely, to stop feeling bad, to stop feeling less than. 

Let him begin the rehabilitation process today. And just like any rehab...it takes time. It hurts, it's painful, it takes practice, and you'll most likely make mistakes and fall back into old patterns. BUT IT'S OKAY. 

We were made to need him more.

healing

Yesterday, I was thinking about the sick woman in the crowd who touched Jesus' robe and was healed. She had spent over a decade of her life with a condition that could not be solved or fixed by physicians. 

I can't imagine the weariness that had settled deep into her bones. The futility, the hopelessness that nothing would ever change. She would never be healed. The joy that's sung about on Christian radio stations would begin to grate on me like an insult to my lack. No joy for me. Only a constant, daily reminder of my illness, my uncleanliness. To be treated as a pariah, given the time period. 

Alone. Hopeless. 

Then, this man comes into town who heals people! He performs miracles! Maybe, just maybe...

So I grope on hands and knees, through the people standing shoulder to shoulder. If I can just see him and maybe touch him...please. Please.

The hope, the tiny spark that had been dead for so long awakens and it hurts. 

But I don't have anything left. The doctors, the waiting, nothing has changed. This is my last chance. My only chance. 

So I extend my hand and graze the passing fabric. I know, in an instant, the change I desired for so long... it's here. 

He knows that I touched him. But he's not angry. Instead, he looks at me with compassion and love and tells me, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace.” Peace. That's all I wanted.

Do I have that same sense of desperation? Would I be willing to crawl through a crowd, exposing my deep need in order to just touch his robe?  

 

what to do with sad

I'm feeling slightly overwhelmed. I look around me and realize that in a matter of a few weeks, so many things will be changing. Friends moving away, job coming to a close... their absence will leave gaps. 

The deepest, most heartfelt part of myself grasps for something to fill their place. Security, love, value. Something that will remind me that it's okay even though things are changing. I'm sad. 

Those words are hard to say outloud or even in the quiet to myself. What are we supposed to do with sad? I don't bang my fists against something. I don't gnash my teeth and swear up and down that this is unjust. 

Sad is sitting in a corner. I want to cover my head and just be left alone. My body aches, the heaviness of feeling helpless overwhelms. What are we supposed to do with sad?

I look at my day as it stretches before me. I don't know what even the next hour will bring. 

Words that have given me hope this day, during Easter season: "Christ has died, Christ has risen, Christ will come again. Hallelujah." 

Such simple, repetitious words. Yet, with them, they change everything. Death, the greatest evidence of the fall, is conquered. The resurrected Jesus lives. He's here and dwelling amongst us. And, he will come again. To make all things right. All things will be made new.

Hallelujah.

What are we supposed to do with sad? What are we supposed to do with those gaps that widen around us?

We ask him to dwell in those spaces. We ask him to fill us with his love. We might have to sit in the quiet for a while. The phone might not ring, I may have to start all over again in building new relationships, in securing another job. Don't be afraid of sad. Don't shun it like a deadly plague. The heaviest of hearts are no burden to Jesus. In fact, I imagine, he sees them with the greatest compassion. 

I feel empty, Jesus. Fill it. I feel full of sadness, Jesus. Replace it with love, faith, and hope.

today

Thank you, Jesus. Today, you took my shame and my sin and put them to death. Permanently. They no longer have control over me. They don't have the power to tell me, "beat yourself up for making a mistake" or "you can't talk to that person because they have it all together and you'll look like a fool." 

In its place was infused grace and love and truth. The truth says, "you are loved no matter what you do. Nothing can separate you from my love", "my love changes you into something beautiful," "come as you are, be at rest." 

Let your hearts take a deep breath at some point today. Remember our Lord who loves you so much. 

 

parking lot musings

I decided to sit in my car in the parking lot for a few minutes so the contained heat, sun beating against my car, could warm me up. I took some deep breaths and let the day swirl in my head. My day is filled with conversation and words. Some are happy congratulations after hearing news like, "I got a scholarship!" or "I finally heard back from them and I got in!" Sometimes I say, "I'm sorry today has been so frustrating" or "I know. I would've been hurt if my friend had said those things." Through it all, I try to be myself. 

When I first started working, I tried to maintain this dignified, confident posture. Take me seriously because I...don't know exactly what I'm doing. But I'm trying. So take me seriously. 

That's evolved. It's evolved into a comfortable settlement of who I really am - a goofy, perceptive listener who has at least a decade on all my clientele. I may look your age, but I'm older and I've weathered it. I know who I am and I can help you.

Sitting in the parking lot, I saw a car that looked very similar to my best friend's car in high school. So many memories of laughing hysterically driving to and from school. Driving to and from practice. Driving to a friend's house. Or a school dance. She was such a sweet friend. Where is she now? A friendly stranger that I saw two Christmases ago. She's married now and living another life in another town. But I'll always remember driving in her car, top down and the maniacal breeze whipping my hair around my face. 

High school doesn't feel that long ago. But I realize that month after month and year after year, it grows fainter. I was that person back then, too. But who I am now, I feel much more comfortable with. I still make myself laugh a little too hard and too long. I like whispering to the person next to me at inappropriate times. I like driving in cars with the top down. But now, the sum of all those parts of who I was then is coming together. 

Thank God for that. For who I was and who I am now.

dusk

I tell him I care about him and I really mean it. He gives a sad, cryptic smile and walks away from me.

The road is darkening and the sun is dipping below the treeline, outlining its spires. Lights are glowing through windows, plates are being set on tables, grace is said through silent lips. My pace slows and my eyes fasten to the concrete in front of me. I sit down. On the sidewalk. Cars begin to pass, its inhabitants glancing at me and then back at the road.

Where had it gone wrong? I can feel the pressure build in my chest and spread down my arms and legs. The tears balance in the corners of my eyes, waiting for permission. I bring my hands to my eyes and wipe them away. I don't cry. You don't cry. 

The hardest thing in the world is to see opportunity open, only to have it close with such finality. Maybe there is something else eventually, later. I have to believe there is. But right now, it's the end. 

I shuffle my feet together in a small mound of dirt. My head bows. It's dark now. The lights on the street casting shadows and the coolness of night settling on my exposed arms. I stand, wiping the nothingness from the sidewalk off my clothes.

I say a prayer in my mind and walk to my house down the street.

watching robins and waiting

Lately, when I think my heart will break, crack open into a million pieces from wanting, waiting, I look at what I have right now. I look at what's right in front of me and I have so much. But... I want to know. I want more. I want less. I want something different. I want... I want.

I watched a robin contentedly and dutifully collect strands of grass and bits of straw-looking vegetation. The sudden leaning over, collecting more and more in his (or her?) small beak. Preparing for the future. Doing what is ingrained in their little bodies. 

There's something so beautiful in that. A small smile crossed my face as I watched the simple activity. 

My heart feels like it's going to implode from longing. For love, for stability. Waiting and just... waiting. When will it be my turn? 

In the meantime, I watch and wait. And I try to find joy and grace and beauty in what's right in front of me. Because I have so much. 

I am yours and you are mine

When words fail...

being yourself and what that really means

You know that saying or maybe it's more of a mindset that tells you, as you're growing up, that what the world really needs is for you to be you? The world needs more authentic people so you need to embrace who you really are.

Ok, that's crap. I mean, wait. Let me expound on that a little bit.

I think this is one of the most impossible tasks to implore upon someone as we're growing up because we're living in a vacuum that's constantly telling us: whatever you are, it's not right. Be like that person over there. Do that other thing and that'll make you better. Be better. Be smarter. Be cooler. Be more attractive. Be more put-together. Be someone else.

As that voice tells me to "just be myself", my cynical response is to cock an eyebrow at them and consciously (and unconsciously) stuff my  "authentic" self a little deeper because they have no idea how hard it is to just get by. 

I wake up and I just want to be seen as acceptable. Something worthwhile. And if that means I need to laugh harder, spend more time looking more presentable, know more about that cool thing that everyone's talking about, then so be it. 

Be myself? Yeah, that doesn't work.

So I live in this place of limbo - fighting myself and others and settling into an ignorant complacency. I mean, it works, doesn't it?

And then, there comes a time in the not-too-distant future...or maybe it's in the way distant future (either is fine by the way) and you realize: hey, I'm tired of this. I'm wasted. No more playing at this act of being acceptable all the time. 

But then it dawns on you: I have no idea who I really am. I've pretended to be something or someone else for so long that the lines have blurred and the reality and fantasy are...the same. Do I really like dressing that way? Do I really care about that particular issue? Are these people around me the type of friends I really want? 

I know that many psychologists have theorized about identify formation and such. And maybe they're all right. Or none of them are right.

All I know is that we're fed paradoxical messages from the first time we open our eyes. Be yourself. And that voice that tells you that you're not good enough - listen to that too. Because you can always be better. 

Maybe this is an age-thing. Maybe it can only be realized after suffering from getting caught in the sharp-edged cycle of performance. And it's only grace that can free us.

After so many years of wanting to just be someone else and grieving and angrily gnashing my teeth from the loss of what was just out of my reach... I've slammed my hand on the bright red abort button of this impossible mission. 

And slowly, so very slowly I'm realizing the truth. Of grace. Of the beauty of settling into who I really am. It's like returning to the outline of myself that I ran away from so many years ago. It's been there all along and I've hidden it away thinking it wasn't good enough.

After you learn to appreciate and embrace your whole self (a process that, by the way, is definitely a life-long thing), you can finally do what you were always meant to do. Love God and love others the best you possibly can.

porch swing

The slats of the swing were rough and uneven. My toes grazed the wooden porch floor as I moved back and forth. Slowly moving, accompanied by the subtle creak of metal in the silence of the morning. 

I was wide awake. A cup of bitter-tasting chicory coffee in a red solo cup was held with fingertips, since the kitchen lacked adequate mugs, and the steam rose to my nose causing it to wrinkle.

My eyes scanned the expansive view in front of me. The tops of trees blocked the sun's rising rays with the backlighting that gives the world a fresh look. Faces bathed in gold and the air smelling like the fog that was beginning to disappear. The forest extended as far as I could see. It rose up and down in subtle waves. This is beautiful country, I thought to myself.

I think there are a few times in life when you realize that something is ending. An era of certainty. A time when you thought you understood how things worked. And in front of you is the unknown. An adventure that moves like the rising and falling slopes of the mountains. It's beautiful, but wild and a little dangerous.

I sat there. On a porch swing with a plastic red cup of chicory coffee. I was afraid, but what I saw in front of me, left me in awe.

no more shame

Yesterday's sermon was entitled "The Emotional Context of Temptation." He spoke a lot on shame. What is shame?

It's something I've been contemplating. And slowly realizing how much it has carved a deep groove into my life. 

Shame says: "you're different", "you're less than"

Shame says: "if people really knew you...if they found out...they wouldn't like you."

So, we hang our heads and hide. We plaster a thick mask and cover ourselves. We bury ourselves deep into dark holes of doubt. 

I feel myself wanting to cover my heart as I type this. Did you know this is a universal sign of feeling vulnerable? If you talk with something and their hand covers their heart, they're feeling...exposed. The heart. Its depths run to the core of our being.

Please don't see this. Shame.

How do we counteract such a pervasive and insidious enemy? Is there something strong enough?

Yes. Absolutely yes. 

You know the answer. It's Jesus. We give him our shame and self-loathing. The contempt we hold bind ourselves to. We feel those feelings. I feel (blank) when (blank) happens. Jesus, can you please take this? I just can't. 

You died on the cross. And on that cross was my shame. It's been put to death and your grace has been filled in its place. 

Grace for shame. Please.

from the wreckage

Where in your life is it most difficult to hope? Finding "the one"? Your reflection in the mirror? To make friends? To have a functional relationship? 

Where is there pain? Yes, that place. The place that you would rather never talk about and keep quiet. That is where Jesus wants to dwell. In the aftermath with the wreckage of sadness, grief, disappointment, or anger - he wants to set up shop and live.

In my mind, I picture The Beast (from Disney's Beauty and the Beast) in his semi-destroyed castle. Ripped curtains, ram shackled furniture, servants quaking in fear. There's darkness everyone and no hope. No hope of change from the isolation. No hope of change from...this.

I don't want to over-spiritualize a Disney movie (but seriously, it's a great movie), but it's a cartoon allegorical version of real life. 

I've been cursed, doomed and this will never change. 

Then, imagine someone who is unafraid of the darkness and isolation. He walks in and takes you by the hands as you sit in the destroyed remnants of your life. He sits down with you and lives there. Let's do this together.

I don't want you to see this, I say. This is shameful. But he doesn't go anywhere. Instead, he walks around and opens the doors and lets in light. Please, stop. This hurts too much. He turns back to me and lifts me up. And carries me. And I'm no longer alone.

what if?

What if I went to Jesus everytime, the first time, I felt lonely? Sad? Disappointed? Frustrated? Unfulfilled? Excited? Joyous? Accomplished? Angry? Rejected? Prideful?

What if I did that? What would change? What would stay the same?

I think everything would change if I did that. 

You know that icky feeling of dissatisfaction? What if instead of turning on the TV, sending that quick text, or browsing through Amazon deals - what if I imagined myself handing the icky feeling to Jesus? Like a little kid with a cut on his hand? Here it is, I'm hurting and I come to you needing help because I can't. Please take it and fix it into something beautiful because I just don't see how.

Take this life with its dents or gaping holes. Take the inadequacy and darkness that fills the corners. Shine your light that heals. Cover my wounds with your own that sanctify.

Please, Lord, take it because that changes everything.

how I became (am becoming) a better socializer because of my job

The alternate title to this post was even longer: How I became (am becoming) a better socializer because of being a school counselor to children and adolescents. 

You get the idea.

I realized this kind of early on. It may have been my internship. No, it was before then. It was my 100-hour practicum at an elementary school. I was convinced I didn't like the elementary school level and that working with seven-year-olds was firmly not for me. It was great for others, but for me - no. I was never a "kid person." 

That changed after my first week. Kids are great. Working with them is even better. What surprised me even more than that was how it was drawing me out of myself. People who don't know me say I'm reserved. I guess I have two speeds - reserved and highly expressive. And there's very little in-between.

Here it is, my job. My job is to draw other people out and to make them feel safe talking to someone whose sole purpose is to help them - even though they don't know me at all. To allow them to be fully themselves. Kind of ironic, right? So, what does someone who is naturally reserved around strangers do when that twelve-year-old stranger stares at you as if you say, "um, so what do we do now?" 

I start to talk. I ask them about their day and about the new shoes they're wearing and what movies they watched. I comment on the food they're serving in the cafeteria and whether they like their teacher. And without fail, they open their mouths and they share. Some with ease. Others with hesitancy.

By trying to draw them out, I'm drawing myself out. I forget my insecurities because I don't want them to feel insecure. 

It's a great thing, really. To care for the other means that I stop thinking so much about myself. And in fact, I start to feel more comfortable in my own skin. To care for the other is to become more fully alive. To become more fully human. 

So thank you, children and adolescents. Thank you for teaching me everyday how to be more human. These skills are being used in cocktail parties, random gatherings, and even in line at the grocery store. Thank you for helping me to get outside of myself and care for the other person.

infancy

I need Thee 
O I need Thee
Every hour I need Thee
O bless me now my Savior
I come to Thee
- "I Need Thee", Annie S. Hawks

These words means more to me now than ever. What a beautifully heart-wrenching experience to depend on the Lord for survival. To have to trust in Him so implicitly I feel like an infant. Not a toddler so I can at least transport myself. A brazen toddler who acts like I have it figured out and to please stop trying to help me! I can't help myself. I'm not even going to apologize about my need. An infant has to be carried. And to feel especially secure, I need to be held close to His heart. 

I need thee... every hour... I need thee.

hope vs. despair and what the Bible says

My counselor suggested I write down verses about hope. I'll tack them around my room and mirror and various places so that I'm bombarded with the audacious and life-giving realization of hope in my little life. I did a search on biblegateway.com. 180 verses were generated. As I scrolled through the verses, I was intrigued to see so many verses from, of all books, Job. Job, the man who had all of his children killed, his health and wealth taken away, his friends, and even his wife give him the advice of: curse God and die (!).

There were 18 verses, each with the word hope. Hope being sought, hope being taken away, hope just out of reach, hope restored. The most "famous" of them:

Though he slay me, yet will I hope in him; I will surely defend my ways to his face. - Job 13:15

When the going gets tough. And I mean, really tough, hope is usually the first thing to go. On the other end of the spectrum of hope is despair. Have you ever felt utterly in despair? Wow. Forget threat of torture. Threat of bottomless despair is a far, far worse fate. 

Hope, as my counselor reiterated, is never something that can be found in the "stuff" around us - health, wealth, job, beauty, family, spouse. Hope is something only found in the Lord. Real hope. Hope that buoys us up and makes us realize that what is right in front of our face is not all there is - there's more and we grasp onto it with strength that's not our own. Hope empowers and emboldens the weak. 

  Why, my soul, are you downcast?
    Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God,
    for I will yet praise him,
    my Savior and my God. - Psalm 42:5

David, a man I think I could've been friends with, had to learn to speak to his despair. He met his despair with hope. Hope that shines light into darkness. Hope that is our refuge and shield. That's what I want. 

clinging, just clinging

... to Jesus. To The Cross. In darkness that seems to engulf me completely. There is no way out. I look up, I look down, and to the sides. No way out. That's when I'm told - Jesus has to find a way outside of my limited, finite, one-dimensional world. He finds a way. Jesus, find a way - going before me and validating me. A way that is filled with worth and value because He made me. And that's enough.

more of what is true

I think it's possible to have a simple, small life without it being insignificant or nondescript. What I want is a quiet life. I want to be faithful in my work, relationships, hobbies. I want to bring 100% of myself to whatever I set to task. 

I was chatting with a friend about the mindset of the freshly college graduated individual. I feel at liberty to speak freely about this because I was this person... The 22-year-old thinks: "I want to live this larger-than-life life. It's going to be passionate and huge and I will change the world!" 

It's the belief that we never have to settle for mundane mediocrity. Christ has come so that I may have life to the full. So, that means I will start up my own non-profit organization which will feed and clothe the disadvantaged youth in Venezuela while providing them with flutes and other instruments for them to create music with. Or maybe I will work in the inner city and transform young minds while writing a blog that will be turned into a book and then a movie. It'll probably be called, "I Didn't Think I Had What It Took, But It Turns Out I Do." It's a working title...

I'm exhausted thinking about it. I want to take those young idealists by the shoulders and tell them gently and with kindness: "what? where did you get that idea? oh, from your entire college culture? right..."

*side note: all of the above described hypotheticals sound awesome and there is nothing wrong with dreaming about those things and/or accomplishing them. 

One of my first ah-ha moments was when I read Shauna Niequist's entry entitled, "On Waiting." If you haven't read it, I recommend it. It's the first chapter in her book Cold Tangerines. She shares that her whole life, she was waiting for what she referred to as - movie moments. You know what I'm talking about. The scene where the guy is running THROUGH the airport to find the girl. The scene when you raise that trophy in triumph because you worked so dang hard to win it and you did! The scene in which you walk down your street and he's standing right there... in front of your house... waiting for you. With your favorite flowers in his hand. And a grin on his face which makes you realize that your life has been changed. (That last one is really detailed because I may or may not have fantasized about it 138 times in high school, college, and present day.)

Life is in the quiet. Life is in the everyday commute while you sip your coffee. Life is organizing your closet and doing laundry. Life is walking the endless aisles of the grocery store wondering where the heck they have peanut butter. Life is in the pain, the quiet, the happy, and the sad. 

Life can be bursting in the every day, the mundane, the ordinary. But it's never without significance. 

my heart on the page

Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever get to experience the type of love that my parents have. The type of love that many of my friends have. This is getting a little real and into something of a vulnerable area, but life is short - and it flies by. What's the purpose in holding our cards so closely to our hearts all the time? We could all be Miss Havisham and allow our hearts to become icy hard - and jaded. 

My life is rich and I am blessed by so much. I know, from an outsider's perspective, that I have a lot more than a typical allotted share. Health, education, family, friends. I have a car that works and a closet full of clothes. I allow myself to indulge in eating out (more than I should) and if I really, really want that thing - it's possible for me to at least save up and buy it. 

But something I don't have and something I will always long for (whether in a big or small way) is love that is just for me. Someone who will hold my hand and my heart because I'm me and not just because he has to - but because we had been looking for each other and we FINALLY found each other. There you are. I'm so glad you're here.

It won't be perfect and there will be hard days, but the good will always outweigh the bad. Jesus will be present and we will praise him for blessing us. And we'll have to remind each other to do that...often. 

I feel as though I'm talking about wishing for mermaids to actually exist. My little heart can't dare hope for something that seems so...impossible. Can someone ever love a heart like mine? 

The still, small voice answers, "yes, it's so easy to love a heart like yours."

Amen.

epic of epic proportions

Joy wells up in my heart for several things. One of them (almost inexplicably) is the season of the Olympic Games. Winter, summer, I love them both. As I wrote back in 2010, my love ran deep. 

The epic-ness, the passion, the larger-than-life magnitude. These people with so much talent make it look so easy! Sure, I could definitely hurl my body down a snowy mountain and NOT DIE. 

It's on my bucket list, right there next to attend a major awards show:

Attend either a summer or winter Olympics (I'd have to say I prefer summer...if we can be picky in the hypothetical.) 

there it is

Others can say things better than I can - at times, and let's be honest - most of the time.

Like this.

filling spaces

How do you handle disappointment? Failure? Not measuring up? How do you reconcile your expectations with reality? That space between what you really desire and wish with what you hold tangibly in your hands (or heart)?

I could feel the blood rush to my face in embarrassment. I will never be a great liar for this very reason. Flushed face, a nervous tremor in my hands. I had messed up. Part of this frustration was my inability to communicate what I really wanted. Another part was the fact that I don't think the person on the receiving end really thinks of me having the "high caliber", charismatic stuff that makes some people float through doors marked VIP. I'm quiet and can be timid. When given the time and space, I articulate myself well. When intimidated, I morph into a cautious selective mute with miming tendencies. 

I think it's fear holding me back. I think it's the desire to be courageous and knowing that I'll falter as I practice. I hate messing up. I hate thinking that I'm being seen for less than I am. 

I'm reminded of a blog post that discussed sharing stuff that's still "in progress." Not the stuff that was difficult and now I've mastered. I'm not sure how to handle disappointment or failure... yet. But that space that I can actually see as I talk about it - the space that widens the gap between our hopes and the reality - it has to be filled with something, right? 

What fills it? Despair? Anguish? Self-loathing? Materialism? Company of other people or the next episode on Netflix? A good work-out? Junk food? One too many drinks?

How do you satiate those whispers (or yells) of disappointment? What has never failed you? What has always satisfied?