Like I said in my last post, I have been feeling fantastic since my February 12th surgery. However, today, my energy has dipped, and I'm back in bed. It's okay. Like I told my best friend on the phone this morning, even when I'm having a bad day post-surgery, it's better than my best day before the surgery. So, my mind is not despairing. I'm just trying to listen to my body, to honor it as a way of thanking God for His good gifts, and to treat it gently as I continue to be restored.
A large part of that restoration process is REST (rest-oration). A few weeks ago, while I was trying to find the balance between activity and rest, I googled something like "how to rest" or "the science of rest" (I can't remember the exact word search). I came upon this article:
http://www.psychologicalscience.org/index.php/news/releases/rest-is-not-idleness-reflection-is-critical-for-development-and-well-being.html
Being the nerd that I am, I ate it up. My favorite line?
"In recent years, researchers have explored the idea of rest by looking at the so-called ‘default mode’ network of the brain, a network that is noticeably active when we are resting and focused inward."
(Association for Psychological Science, July 2, 2012)
According to the article, this area of the brain, researchers believe, is the area associated with learning, memory, and socio-emotional functioning (like moral judgment and self-awareness).
In other words, while we rest, this part of ourselves is growing, developing, maturing! That's pretty amazing.
And it became even more amazing to me when, as I lay here this morning, my mind drifted to what's happening inside my body. I asked God, "Lord, what are you doing in there? What's happening inside me while I rest today?" His response? "I am healing you."
The staff at my son's school is currently reading a book called Margin by Richard Swenson. As I read this article and thought about that book (which I have yet to read) and acknowledged God's word to me today, a thought began to form: rest isn't just about sleeping or laying in bed.
I know that sounds obvious, but you have to remember, I had major surgery six weeks ago. Up until last week, a lot of my recovery was about sleeping and laying in bed. But now, as my body gets stronger and my mind can think more clearly, rest needs to look different. Now, rest is about giving myself margin for reflection, about creating space for Him to work both inside my physical and mental selves.
So, on a day like today when I don't have the energy to drive my daughter to gymnastics, when my husband is, once again, coming to the rescue and struggling to keep all of the balls in the air, when I am doing well to sit up and lift my arms, I am writing. Why? Because writing in this space helps bring my mind to a place of rest. Here, I am reflecting. Here, there is margin.
Someone else might look at me right now and think, "why aren't you resting?" But I need to get all those 'someones' out of my head and let my rest take shape as it will, perfectly formed to my needs in this time. I will make mistakes. I will do an activity that I think will leave me feeling restored, only to come out on the other side completely depleted. Conversely, I will choose something I call 'rest' and it will take from me, rather than give back (I think of laying in bed - this is decidedly not restorative at this stage).
Perhaps the answer to "what is rest?" or "what should rest look like?" is "it depends." It depends on what you need at the time, on where you are in your life, your day, your hour, your minute. Maybe it is silence in one moment and singing in the next. Maybe it is walking through the neighborhood one afternoon and taking a nap the next. The salient point is this: it's about what restores you, what gives you life, what leaves you feeling full and not empty. And that, ultimately, is about God at work in your life.
For me, no matter what that looks like, it must involve margin, it must include space for reflection.
And for you? What does rest look like for you?
Thursday, March 20, 2014
Monday, March 17, 2014
Time Flies
Wow, how time flies. I came back here today FULL of things to write, insights to share, pictures to ponder, but then I noticed that my last post was FOUR MONTHS AGO.
Um...oops.
In my mind, I have visited you many times since then, waxed poetic about all manner of things, and wowed you with my wisdom.
Ha! How reality pales in comparison with my vivid imagination. So, being true to form, I told you I was leaving, came back with a random post, and now sit here regretting my own absence. I know, I'm a strange one.
And consistency is hard for me. I'm just being honest. My reasoning for coming back is three-fold::
1. I need you. I need a place to write because I, dear friends, am an external processer. I need to be able to get my thoughts out in order to make sense of them. If I'm lucky enough to have you read me, and even reflect back what you here in the comments, then bonus for me.
2. I want to encourage you.
3. My creative writing projects need the help and discipline blog writing provides. In other words, this is a place to get my juices flowing.
So, I'm baaaaaaaack. :)
And where have I been in the meantime? Parenting two precious children, wife-ing an amazing husband, working full-time at an awesome company, and walking the road to health. In short, here are some bullet points to try to catch you up:
Um...oops.
In my mind, I have visited you many times since then, waxed poetic about all manner of things, and wowed you with my wisdom.
Ha! How reality pales in comparison with my vivid imagination. So, being true to form, I told you I was leaving, came back with a random post, and now sit here regretting my own absence. I know, I'm a strange one.
And consistency is hard for me. I'm just being honest. My reasoning for coming back is three-fold::
1. I need you. I need a place to write because I, dear friends, am an external processer. I need to be able to get my thoughts out in order to make sense of them. If I'm lucky enough to have you read me, and even reflect back what you here in the comments, then bonus for me.
2. I want to encourage you.
3. My creative writing projects need the help and discipline blog writing provides. In other words, this is a place to get my juices flowing.
So, I'm baaaaaaaack. :)
And where have I been in the meantime? Parenting two precious children, wife-ing an amazing husband, working full-time at an awesome company, and walking the road to health. In short, here are some bullet points to try to catch you up:
- The novel. I've written and rewritten three times now. I'm currently on version 4.0. Feel free to pray for me as I attempt - again - to respond to two agents generous offers to read a revision and FINISH THIS WORK.
- The husband. Last October he launched his own business! I'm so proud of him. He loves what he does and I love it too! It's a great fit. For more, check it out on his website - www.stonebridgecoffee.com - or on Facebook.
- The body. I got really, really sick last year. Worse than ever. My chronic adrenal fatigue combined with crazy hormones combined with all sorts of wackiness led me into the Land of Deterioration. I took matters into my own hands, fired some incompetent doctors, found some amazing ones, and started over. I recently had major surgery (mid-February), and now feel better than I have in years, PRAISE GOD! I still have a long way to go, but things are looking up.
- The job. Last fall I started back full-time at Austin's best jewelry and high-end gift store: The Menagerie (www.themenagerie.com). I manage the website and some marketing and buying. It's super fun, and I'm very thankful.
Monday, November 18, 2013
One Day
If my children don't talk to me for one day, all h--- breaks loose.
They may act like they're fine. They may even ignore me when I return from a three-day absence (I was at the annual Soli Deo Gloria retreat - wish you had been there!).
But then it's nap time.
And Mommy has to run an errand.
And Little Bit realizes I'm leaving again.
And...forget about it. All...bets...are...off. No amount of negotiation could get my four-year-old to calm down. I had to get my five-year-old to Tae Kwon Do, but I couldn't leave her empty-handed, sobbing in her bed (these were genuine sobs, not the "I'm trying to manipulate you" kind). I gently lifted her body, racked with hiccupy breaths, and carried her into my husband and 14-week-old puppy, Willie "Bill" Nelson. I told her I loved her, and, eventually, this is what ensued:
I know...adorable! The little girl needed to sleep. Not only did she nap for two hours, but she also fell asleep without one peep when we put her down at 6:30! I'm not kidding!
Why am I sharing this on my blog? Great question. I think, for two reasons:
First, I confess that I had some of my friends' voices in my head as my daughter sobbed. Those voices say mommies should never leave their babies, homeschooling is best, and attachment is the only way. (This isn't meant to be a political post on your mothering choices. I ask you to quiet any urge to go there and, instead, bear with me as I use this struggle to illustrate a larger point.)
I felt guilty.
How many of you can relate? How many of you feel not good enough as a Mom, no matter what choice you make?
Those voices were combated with the only thing that could silence them - and here's my point, peeps. The voice of God (as I hear Him, which is, no doubt, unique from how you hear Him...and you, and you, and, yes, you) told me something during my time away. He said, "Retreat is a Discipline."
To me, that one little phrase reminded me of what it means to put my trust in Him. When I can't be all things to all people (there for my husband, present for my kids, and the list goes on). When I make a choice that has consequences I don't want. When I have to choose and can't do all.
Choosing to step away from my life - myself - and let it all go is an act of trusting that He'll take care of everything, especially of my kids, even if the re-entry is challenging.
Making Him the center of my life - rather than myself - is my spiritual act of worship.
Second, I'm sharing this story because I had a sort-of profound thought surrounding my kids and their need to talk to me every day. (I'm not naive, folks. I have a feeling this will change as they get older; though, I hope it doesn't.)
"It's like God," I thought.
I know, profound.
Here's what I mean: if I go a day - even just one day - without checking in with Him, without leaning into His comfort, hearing His voice, looking to Him for direction, telling Him how I feel about my life, then I, too, am a basketcase. The smallest thing will set me off. I will lose self control and break down in a tantrum of "me, me, me" until all I can do is sleep. Or sleep walk, making it through my days in an unconscious state in which nothing can touch me.
My point? I hope I remember what it felt like to hold Lily as she sobbed. While it absolutely broke my heart, it also drove home the thought I had had the day before: I need Him even more than she needs me. I can numb myself to the need. I can (sometimes) stretch the time between my meltdowns to longer than a day. But in the end, I fall apart without the daily, consistent time with God we were all designed to experience.
So let's hear it for retreats! The annual kind and the daily ones.
They may act like they're fine. They may even ignore me when I return from a three-day absence (I was at the annual Soli Deo Gloria retreat - wish you had been there!).
But then it's nap time.
And Mommy has to run an errand.
And Little Bit realizes I'm leaving again.
And...forget about it. All...bets...are...off. No amount of negotiation could get my four-year-old to calm down. I had to get my five-year-old to Tae Kwon Do, but I couldn't leave her empty-handed, sobbing in her bed (these were genuine sobs, not the "I'm trying to manipulate you" kind). I gently lifted her body, racked with hiccupy breaths, and carried her into my husband and 14-week-old puppy, Willie "Bill" Nelson. I told her I loved her, and, eventually, this is what ensued:
I know...adorable! The little girl needed to sleep. Not only did she nap for two hours, but she also fell asleep without one peep when we put her down at 6:30! I'm not kidding!
Why am I sharing this on my blog? Great question. I think, for two reasons:
First, I confess that I had some of my friends' voices in my head as my daughter sobbed. Those voices say mommies should never leave their babies, homeschooling is best, and attachment is the only way. (This isn't meant to be a political post on your mothering choices. I ask you to quiet any urge to go there and, instead, bear with me as I use this struggle to illustrate a larger point.)
I felt guilty.
How many of you can relate? How many of you feel not good enough as a Mom, no matter what choice you make?
Those voices were combated with the only thing that could silence them - and here's my point, peeps. The voice of God (as I hear Him, which is, no doubt, unique from how you hear Him...and you, and you, and, yes, you) told me something during my time away. He said, "Retreat is a Discipline."
To me, that one little phrase reminded me of what it means to put my trust in Him. When I can't be all things to all people (there for my husband, present for my kids, and the list goes on). When I make a choice that has consequences I don't want. When I have to choose and can't do all.
Choosing to step away from my life - myself - and let it all go is an act of trusting that He'll take care of everything, especially of my kids, even if the re-entry is challenging.
Making Him the center of my life - rather than myself - is my spiritual act of worship.
Second, I'm sharing this story because I had a sort-of profound thought surrounding my kids and their need to talk to me every day. (I'm not naive, folks. I have a feeling this will change as they get older; though, I hope it doesn't.)
"It's like God," I thought.
I know, profound.
Here's what I mean: if I go a day - even just one day - without checking in with Him, without leaning into His comfort, hearing His voice, looking to Him for direction, telling Him how I feel about my life, then I, too, am a basketcase. The smallest thing will set me off. I will lose self control and break down in a tantrum of "me, me, me" until all I can do is sleep. Or sleep walk, making it through my days in an unconscious state in which nothing can touch me.
My point? I hope I remember what it felt like to hold Lily as she sobbed. While it absolutely broke my heart, it also drove home the thought I had had the day before: I need Him even more than she needs me. I can numb myself to the need. I can (sometimes) stretch the time between my meltdowns to longer than a day. But in the end, I fall apart without the daily, consistent time with God we were all designed to experience.
So let's hear it for retreats! The annual kind and the daily ones.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
For everything there is a time....
Dear Blogging Friends,
I've decided to shut down this blog indefinitely. I haven't been able to keep up with it consistently for a while now because I feel the Lord tugging me in a different direction. Every time I sit down to write in this space, I have to heed His call and move in a different direction.
Rather than string you along, dear readers, I am going to take my exit with a gracious bow and many thanks.
I have so enjoyed meeting you here over the last few years. Your comments and encouragement and feedback have Filled My Bucket many times over.
May the Lord bless you and keep you,
in Him,
Jenny
I've decided to shut down this blog indefinitely. I haven't been able to keep up with it consistently for a while now because I feel the Lord tugging me in a different direction. Every time I sit down to write in this space, I have to heed His call and move in a different direction.
Rather than string you along, dear readers, I am going to take my exit with a gracious bow and many thanks.
I have so enjoyed meeting you here over the last few years. Your comments and encouragement and feedback have Filled My Bucket many times over.
May the Lord bless you and keep you,
in Him,
Jenny
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
The Stairs
Today, I was defeated by a flight of stairs.
Some days, stairs - while challenging - are manageable. Today, I just couldn't do it. I walked around, found the elevator, and rode up to the second floor. Today, there simply wasn't enough energy.
I started to get down about this, to feel embarrassed that a thirty-six year-old woman can't climb a single flight of stairs without needing to have a lie-down. All day.
I started to berate myself with voices - old voices - that, when taken all together, say one thing alone:
You are not _____ enough.
Fill in the blank with what you will...not good enough, not trying hard enough, not skinny enough, not in-shape enough, not strong enough. The list goes on.
I'm being real with you today, dear reader. I hope I do not depress too much. Is my writing satisfactory enough? Will you comment? Will you come back, even though I am not consistent enough?
These are the thoughts that always stand nearby, ready to exploit any weakness in my armor. These are the thoughts I must defend against, no matter how strong a connection they have to my heritage.
I believe this is what God meant when He led me to Psalm 79 yesterday, especially verse 8. I believe this is what God meant when He called me to ponder the words about enemies ravaging, neighbors mocking, and ungodly kingdoms dooming.
I believe this is what He was trying to show me when He had me camp on Psalm 79:8:
"Do not hold us guilty for the sins of our ancestors! Let your compassion quickly meet our needs, for we are on the brink of despair."
For me, this is a battle in my body and my mind. My disease and disorder (the doctors tell me it is both) is genetic. Something passed down against my will. My thought-patterns share that trait. I was taught many of the lies; through word and deed they became part of me. Now I must unravel them and learn truth.
The lies and disease are enemies, mocking neighbors, ungodly kingdoms. They attack ceaselessly, and I must stand firm.
But what happens when I am too weak to sit, much less stand? What happens when I am defeated by a flight of stairs, when there's simply not enough energy to defend?
Honestly?
Those are the best days. Because, even though I might wrestle with accusations and shame briefly, I have learned a certain lesson very well. I have learned that weakness is my friend.
In the end, after all, it is not mine to defend but His. In the end, I can't, I don't, I won't be able to. In the end, all I can do is rest in His shadow while He does the work.
So I choose that thought. I camp in that place. I let the swirling words fall to the ground like dead leaves in winter. I lie down. I rest.
And in so doing, I find His strength in my weakness.
Linking up with sweet friends at Soli Deo Gloria today. Be sure to hop over and check it out.
Some days, stairs - while challenging - are manageable. Today, I just couldn't do it. I walked around, found the elevator, and rode up to the second floor. Today, there simply wasn't enough energy.
I started to get down about this, to feel embarrassed that a thirty-six year-old woman can't climb a single flight of stairs without needing to have a lie-down. All day.
I started to berate myself with voices - old voices - that, when taken all together, say one thing alone:
You are not _____ enough.
Fill in the blank with what you will...not good enough, not trying hard enough, not skinny enough, not in-shape enough, not strong enough. The list goes on.
I'm being real with you today, dear reader. I hope I do not depress too much. Is my writing satisfactory enough? Will you comment? Will you come back, even though I am not consistent enough?
These are the thoughts that always stand nearby, ready to exploit any weakness in my armor. These are the thoughts I must defend against, no matter how strong a connection they have to my heritage.
I believe this is what God meant when He led me to Psalm 79 yesterday, especially verse 8. I believe this is what God meant when He called me to ponder the words about enemies ravaging, neighbors mocking, and ungodly kingdoms dooming.
I believe this is what He was trying to show me when He had me camp on Psalm 79:8:
"Do not hold us guilty for the sins of our ancestors! Let your compassion quickly meet our needs, for we are on the brink of despair."
For me, this is a battle in my body and my mind. My disease and disorder (the doctors tell me it is both) is genetic. Something passed down against my will. My thought-patterns share that trait. I was taught many of the lies; through word and deed they became part of me. Now I must unravel them and learn truth.
The lies and disease are enemies, mocking neighbors, ungodly kingdoms. They attack ceaselessly, and I must stand firm.
But what happens when I am too weak to sit, much less stand? What happens when I am defeated by a flight of stairs, when there's simply not enough energy to defend?
Honestly?
Those are the best days. Because, even though I might wrestle with accusations and shame briefly, I have learned a certain lesson very well. I have learned that weakness is my friend.
In the end, after all, it is not mine to defend but His. In the end, I can't, I don't, I won't be able to. In the end, all I can do is rest in His shadow while He does the work.
So I choose that thought. I camp in that place. I let the swirling words fall to the ground like dead leaves in winter. I lie down. I rest.
And in so doing, I find His strength in my weakness.
Linking up with sweet friends at Soli Deo Gloria today. Be sure to hop over and check it out.
Friday, March 22, 2013
Flailing
This week was a "come to Jesus" week. I flailed. I whined. I stomped. I slammed.
But then I fell and cried and stopped. Stopped the merry-go-round madness with three little words, divinely thrown my way by a friend with a patient ear and compassionate heart: "Don't freak out."
As she put it, "maybe God is throwing these circumstances your way to allow your old self to rise to the surface - precisely so that that old self can be dealt with. Maybe, just maybe, the response is simply: don't freak out."
It's that simple.
When things don't go my way, instead of panicking, I need to remain calm. This, in many ways, is the ultimate act of faith and trust and, truth be told, hope.
When my timeline is not met, instead of whining, I need to stop and think...perhaps there's a reason I'm not getting what I want when I want it?
When I'm overwhelmed by my emotions, instead of allowing myself to drown under the tsunami-like wave of feelings, I need to raise my staff of God*, trust in the sovereignty of my Supreme Ruler, and choose:
Don't...
freak...
out.
Now that a few days have passed between several disappointments I experienced this week, it's a lot easier to see how my panic, fear, hyper-emotionalism were wholly unhelpful. It's also a lot easier to see how God is, indeed, working all things together for my good. When I heard 'no', He was actually saying 'not yet.' When I heard 'not good enough to be given to you', He was actually saying 'I am giving to you, in the way that is best for you.' It's amazing what we choose to hear when we allow chaos to rule.
I'm thankful for my friend, thankful for her ear, thankful for her words. I've found my new motto for now. So, if you see a friendly redhead in Austin, Texas, flailing her arms and tugging on her pigtails, feel free to walk right up and say, "did you leave your three words at home today?"
*Referencing Moses' staff and the parting of the Red Sea, Exodus 14.
But then I fell and cried and stopped. Stopped the merry-go-round madness with three little words, divinely thrown my way by a friend with a patient ear and compassionate heart: "Don't freak out."
As she put it, "maybe God is throwing these circumstances your way to allow your old self to rise to the surface - precisely so that that old self can be dealt with. Maybe, just maybe, the response is simply: don't freak out."
It's that simple.
When things don't go my way, instead of panicking, I need to remain calm. This, in many ways, is the ultimate act of faith and trust and, truth be told, hope.
When my timeline is not met, instead of whining, I need to stop and think...perhaps there's a reason I'm not getting what I want when I want it?
When I'm overwhelmed by my emotions, instead of allowing myself to drown under the tsunami-like wave of feelings, I need to raise my staff of God*, trust in the sovereignty of my Supreme Ruler, and choose:
Don't...
freak...
out.
Now that a few days have passed between several disappointments I experienced this week, it's a lot easier to see how my panic, fear, hyper-emotionalism were wholly unhelpful. It's also a lot easier to see how God is, indeed, working all things together for my good. When I heard 'no', He was actually saying 'not yet.' When I heard 'not good enough to be given to you', He was actually saying 'I am giving to you, in the way that is best for you.' It's amazing what we choose to hear when we allow chaos to rule.
I'm thankful for my friend, thankful for her ear, thankful for her words. I've found my new motto for now. So, if you see a friendly redhead in Austin, Texas, flailing her arms and tugging on her pigtails, feel free to walk right up and say, "did you leave your three words at home today?"
*Referencing Moses' staff and the parting of the Red Sea, Exodus 14.
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Find Your Feet
Have you ever noticed how much sports are about finding your feet? You fly through the air off the high bar, only to stick the landing on the mat. You breathe, stroke, flip your way into the wall, hoping your feet pound against the wall so you can carry your momentum through the turn. You pound your feet on the pavement, the sidewalk, the jogging trail, using each downward motion to create the next forward one. You leap into the air, stretching for the frisbee or football or baseball or what-not, but you always come down. And the way you come down matters. Flat-footed, sure-footed, wobbly-footed...it will all affect your next move.
Today, I mastered the flip-turn. I've been swimming consistently for eight years, but I've never been able to "land" one. I've been way. too. scared.
Not today. Today I heard the Holy Spirit say, "today's the day." So, I tried. And, it worked! I wish you all could have been there with me; I smiled like a little kid. I was so excited.
And then the analogy came with three little words: find your feet.
Here are some silly, yet painfully authentic, ways I "find my feet" throughout the day:
*****
Me: "Do I seriously look like that?" (I say to myself as I pass my reflection in the mirror.) "Yuck."
Holy Spirit: "Would you want your daughter to treat herself that way?"
Me: "You're right." Find your feet.
*****
Holy Spirit: "Can you see how you are dizzy?"
Me: "But I've only been in the pool six minutes."
Holy Spirit: "Yes, but you're back in the pool after five weeks of being unable to swim. And, it's your second day back this week. And, you just mastered the kick-turn!"
Me: "You're right," as I acknowledge my limits and climb out of the pool. Find your feet.
*****
It's not really about the current move, or choice, is it? I mean, that choice absolutely matters, but it matters because of how it sets us up.
So, will we choose to stick to, push against, run through, land on Truth, setting us up for Life? I hope so. Because, I've gotta tell you, it felt so good to kick off that wall today. The solidity of that wall, like the unbendableness of Truth, gave me power, momentum, strength to move forward well. I want that. Don't you?
Today, I mastered the flip-turn. I've been swimming consistently for eight years, but I've never been able to "land" one. I've been way. too. scared.
| Photo credit: Ryan McVay, Photodisc, Getty Images; taken from Livestrong.com |
And then the analogy came with three little words: find your feet.
Here are some silly, yet painfully authentic, ways I "find my feet" throughout the day:
*****
Me: "Do I seriously look like that?" (I say to myself as I pass my reflection in the mirror.) "Yuck."
Holy Spirit: "Would you want your daughter to treat herself that way?"
Me: "You're right." Find your feet.
*****
Holy Spirit: "Can you see how you are dizzy?"
Me: "But I've only been in the pool six minutes."
Holy Spirit: "Yes, but you're back in the pool after five weeks of being unable to swim. And, it's your second day back this week. And, you just mastered the kick-turn!"
Me: "You're right," as I acknowledge my limits and climb out of the pool. Find your feet.
*****
It's not really about the current move, or choice, is it? I mean, that choice absolutely matters, but it matters because of how it sets us up.
So, will we choose to stick to, push against, run through, land on Truth, setting us up for Life? I hope so. Because, I've gotta tell you, it felt so good to kick off that wall today. The solidity of that wall, like the unbendableness of Truth, gave me power, momentum, strength to move forward well. I want that. Don't you?
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Rocky Ground
Today, I had a vision.
I was walking on rocky ground, the craggy rocks the size of basketballs and footballs. It was grey and overcast, and the ground sloped slightly. I could not get my footing. I was struggling and afraid.
Then, Psalm 9 verse 10:
"Those who know your name trust in you,
for you, O Lord, do not abandon those who search for you."
I was walking on rocky ground, the craggy rocks the size of basketballs and footballs. It was grey and overcast, and the ground sloped slightly. I could not get my footing. I was struggling and afraid.
Then, Psalm 9 verse 10:
"Those who know your name trust in you,
for you, O Lord, do not abandon those who search for you."
"Where should I look? Up? Down? Forward? Left? Right? Behind? Tell me, and I will turn my eyes."
A Voice answered: "Look here."
I looked and saw a face appear where there had been none before. The air shimmered to let Him through.
"Look at me," He said. I did. We started to walk and I started to stumble. I looked down and saw Death at my feet. A hand, a face, buried in the rubble. She looked like me but not me either. I gasped.
The Voice spoke: "That vision is not from me." Its authority drew me back to Him.
I mentally struggled and then pushed Death out of my mind. I refocused on Him. He clasped my hands, walking backwards in front of me, urging me forward.
The scene flickered as I walked.
Where grey, overcast skies had been, blue skies replaced them. The jagged ground was actually a hilly meadow, filled with soft grass and wildflowers, bees buzzing, birds flitting. The sun kissed everything with its warmth.
I smiled.
"This was here all along."
He smiled.
"Yes. Now, walk with me."
Thursday, January 31, 2013
The Arc
I spend a lot of time thinking about story arcs. I'm a writer, you see. I can't say I'm an "author" (yet) because I haven't been published. At least, not for my books. Not yet. It's coming, I tell you, and, don't worry, you'll be among the first to know when it happens. :) I'll be shouting it from the proverbial rooftops; you can count on it.
In the meantime - in the here and now and yesterdays and futures - I dwell in the possibilities of rainbow-shaped journeys through time and space and development. There has to be a beginning, a place from which to start. There's always a middle, filled with the delicious tension that makes you sit on the edge of your seat, hungering for resolution and wondering what will happen next. And then there's the end, which is never really an end, the glorious resolution that highlights just how far your character has come.
Stories have plots, of course, but that's not what hooks us. Plots, or action, don't keep us engaged. Not really. Not beyond a two-hour attention-span so succinctly provided by movies. If you want us to invest, we have to engage with the people, the characters you write. Because books, like lives, are only interesting to us because of the relationships they call us into.
What will happen to _____? Will she live, will he die, will they fall in love? You get the idea. The 'how' is interesting, but it's not what keeps us reading.
So, I think about people and characters and their arcs. Today, while I was reflecting on my own life, I realized there's a precious story arc happening right here in living color, in the little house I call home on Blackfoot Trail. In the messiness of 'working it out' daily, I am changed, evolved, matured.
This sounds pedestrian, I know. Simplistic. Like something we all know. But I'm sharing because it's helpful to reflect on the yesterdays and todays and possible tomorrows. I'm sharing because, sometimes, we need to get a picture of the rainbow to remember the covenant.* In short, I'm sharing because, today in particular, I need the encouragement of the knowledge that this is a journey, that I'm not stuck, that there is a process that leads somewhere really good.
So here you go, my personal story arc, in sketch form:
I was...
In the meantime - in the here and now and yesterdays and futures - I dwell in the possibilities of rainbow-shaped journeys through time and space and development. There has to be a beginning, a place from which to start. There's always a middle, filled with the delicious tension that makes you sit on the edge of your seat, hungering for resolution and wondering what will happen next. And then there's the end, which is never really an end, the glorious resolution that highlights just how far your character has come.
Stories have plots, of course, but that's not what hooks us. Plots, or action, don't keep us engaged. Not really. Not beyond a two-hour attention-span so succinctly provided by movies. If you want us to invest, we have to engage with the people, the characters you write. Because books, like lives, are only interesting to us because of the relationships they call us into.
What will happen to _____? Will she live, will he die, will they fall in love? You get the idea. The 'how' is interesting, but it's not what keeps us reading.
So, I think about people and characters and their arcs. Today, while I was reflecting on my own life, I realized there's a precious story arc happening right here in living color, in the little house I call home on Blackfoot Trail. In the messiness of 'working it out' daily, I am changed, evolved, matured.
This sounds pedestrian, I know. Simplistic. Like something we all know. But I'm sharing because it's helpful to reflect on the yesterdays and todays and possible tomorrows. I'm sharing because, sometimes, we need to get a picture of the rainbow to remember the covenant.* In short, I'm sharing because, today in particular, I need the encouragement of the knowledge that this is a journey, that I'm not stuck, that there is a process that leads somewhere really good.
So here you go, my personal story arc, in sketch form:
I was...
- short-sighted
- a money-worshipper
- a believer that success equaled a certain kind of house, a certain kind of job/education/intellect, a certain kind of community, a certain kind of ability to travel and spend and own
- whiny, always needing to know 'why?' and 'why me?'
I am...
- thankful for every little bit we have, which isn't much
- a God-worshipper; I know that I know that I know that HE will provide, no matter what I do or do not do; that HE owns the cattle on a thousand hills; that money comes and goes - it's what we do with it in-between the comings and goings that matters
- learning how to redefine success; I'm beginning to see it as a life lived in dependence, a life lived with authenticity and openness, a life that can be moved for His purposes in His time
- less whiny. I need to know 'why?' much less than I used to. Now, I primarily feel resigned to the fact that God's going to do what God's going to do. Once I've done everything in my power to get my heart as clean as possible before Him, and once I've done everything in my power to walk in obedience (as much as I can discern what that means), then, well, there's nothing more I can do. The rest is up to Him. If things aren't coming together the way I want them to, that's not my problem. It's on Him. My job is to wait and watch. He'll reveal His purposes in His time.
Could that be what PEACE means? Could that be what it is to walk in peace, to be okay with waiting and having absolutely no control? To allow yourself to operate more like an observer and less like a director, to follow rather than lead, to rent rather than own? And to be okay with it?
I'm not sure yet, but I do know that I am so different than I used to be. This post doesn't even come close to illustrating the changes He's worked in me. I don't have enough words. But I do have this word: thankful. I am so, so thankful. I want to be the person on this side of the arc. And all the conflicts and 'tensions' He put in my path along the way are nothing compared to the joy and freedom I have now.
I want the fullness.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
A Tribute to My Husband
My husband and I celebrated seven years of marriage last Monday. I am so, so, so thankful for him. The Lord has used him to make me into a better person - a more complete one, yes, but also someone who more closely resembles the character traits of God.
Because of Justin, I am:
4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 8 Love never fails...
Thank you, Justin, for teaching me how to love. I love you! Here's to many more years together!!!!
Because of Justin, I am:
- more balanced. I consider things carefully and calmly before reacting, rather than allowing myself to become tossed back and forth on the waves of my emotional response.
- more patient. Living with anyone engenders patience. But, Justin has born with me so many times, never saying a word about my struggles until, finally, after months (sometimes years), I realize I'm in bondage and come to him and confession. Almost every time, he's not surprised. He has seen it, known it, been subject to it. Instead of freaking out and yelling at me to change because of how my junk affects him (ah-hem, I wouldn't know anything about that kind of response), he waits. Patiently. When the time is right, and I turn toward change, he's there, ready to forgive, ready to help, ready to smile and encourage and restore with his loving presence.
- more fun. He makes me laugh. A lot. At myself, at life, at hardship. There is joy with him. As my son put it, "Mom, Daddy's more fun than you." Oh so true. And thank God. We all need a little fun in our lives, right? More than a little. I'm quite sure God gave us laughter for a reason.
- more loving. Justin doesn't expect much from people. This used to annoy me. I would think, "Don't you know you deserve more; don't you know you shouldn't let people get away with giving you so little?" Now I know: love doesn't work like that. What I used to preach with my words I now live more truly with my life. Love is selfless. Love doesn't seek to get; it seeks to give.
From 1 Corinthians 13:
4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 8 Love never fails...
Thank you, Justin, for teaching me how to love. I love you! Here's to many more years together!!!!
Monday, December 17, 2012
Bucket Filling
My son's preschool teacher shared a precious book with us a little over a month ago: Have You Filled a Bucket Today? by Carol McCloud. Ever since then, bucket-filling has consumed our common vocabulary.
Lily, my three-year-old, will give me a peck on the cheek and whisper, "that filled your bucket, Mommy." Gunnar, the almost-five-year-old in the house, will pick up his toys without asking and ask, "did I fill your bucket, Mommy?!?" (The unequivocal answer is YES!)
Here's a picture of the two little munchkin's, because I can't resist:
The conversation goes both ways. Both kids make sure to tell me what I can do to fill their buckets. (If you're a parent, or if you've ever been around a kid at all, you can probably imagine how these conversations go....)
Yesterday, the four of us were having a rare moment at home alone together (Justin has been traveling like crazy for work). We were giggling and laughing and generally bucket-filling. In the midst of it all, Gunnar said in his loudest, most dramatic voice,
"My bucket is a GOLIATH-SIZED bucket!"
Justin and I belly-laughed at that. He hit the nail on the head (as usual...I seriously think that kid's prophetic; he is so insightful). Sometimes it does seem like we are pouring into a black hole. He needs and wants and needs and wants....
Yes, this is sort of a toddler thing, but it's also a Gunnar thing. Especially when his dad is suddenly en absentia after being home almost non-stop for seven months (thanks to unemployment). The transition has been really hard on the little guy, so his neediness has been at an all-time high. It's easy to feel overwhelmed, and like nothing I do is ever good enough.
But, today, after yesterday's pronouncement, I had a revelation: It's not the big things; it's the little things that make the difference.
In other words, I don't have to create this huge, over-the-top gesture to fill my son's rather large bucket. In fact, when I try to pull that off, it inevitably backfires (either because I'm so stressed from the effort or because, quite simply, it's not what he wants...or needs).
No, I need to do the little things. Consistently. Every day. And if I'm consistent enough, his bucket will never be empty.
I think this is how God calls us to live, and, large bucket or small, how we're all made. We all need consistent, small acts of love, all the time. The big gestures are wonderful, of course, but it's the small moments that make the biggest difference.
I'm thankful that God graciously gave me that insight today, lest I get overwhelmed with ol' Goliath. And I'm thankful He gave it to me during Advent, the season of (among other things) giving (also known as: bucket-filling). I want to work on my consistency in the small things, the daily acts, and now's as good a time as ever to start.*
Linking up with the community at Soli Deo Gloria today, but before I go, one last note....
*I couldn't leave this post without relating a quick story. I started chatting with the newby at my local Starbucks today. She told me that, when she was training in Seattle, someone had paid for the person behind them in the drive-thru. "Cool," I thought. She went on: "yea, it was cool, but what was even cooler was that the chain literally went on for something-like twenty cars!"
That blew me away. The power of the little things. You never know what impact your one, small act will make!
Lily, my three-year-old, will give me a peck on the cheek and whisper, "that filled your bucket, Mommy." Gunnar, the almost-five-year-old in the house, will pick up his toys without asking and ask, "did I fill your bucket, Mommy?!?" (The unequivocal answer is YES!)
Here's a picture of the two little munchkin's, because I can't resist:
The conversation goes both ways. Both kids make sure to tell me what I can do to fill their buckets. (If you're a parent, or if you've ever been around a kid at all, you can probably imagine how these conversations go....)
Yesterday, the four of us were having a rare moment at home alone together (Justin has been traveling like crazy for work). We were giggling and laughing and generally bucket-filling. In the midst of it all, Gunnar said in his loudest, most dramatic voice,
"My bucket is a GOLIATH-SIZED bucket!"
Justin and I belly-laughed at that. He hit the nail on the head (as usual...I seriously think that kid's prophetic; he is so insightful). Sometimes it does seem like we are pouring into a black hole. He needs and wants and needs and wants....
Yes, this is sort of a toddler thing, but it's also a Gunnar thing. Especially when his dad is suddenly en absentia after being home almost non-stop for seven months (thanks to unemployment). The transition has been really hard on the little guy, so his neediness has been at an all-time high. It's easy to feel overwhelmed, and like nothing I do is ever good enough.
But, today, after yesterday's pronouncement, I had a revelation: It's not the big things; it's the little things that make the difference.
In other words, I don't have to create this huge, over-the-top gesture to fill my son's rather large bucket. In fact, when I try to pull that off, it inevitably backfires (either because I'm so stressed from the effort or because, quite simply, it's not what he wants...or needs).
No, I need to do the little things. Consistently. Every day. And if I'm consistent enough, his bucket will never be empty.
I think this is how God calls us to live, and, large bucket or small, how we're all made. We all need consistent, small acts of love, all the time. The big gestures are wonderful, of course, but it's the small moments that make the biggest difference.
I'm thankful that God graciously gave me that insight today, lest I get overwhelmed with ol' Goliath. And I'm thankful He gave it to me during Advent, the season of (among other things) giving (also known as: bucket-filling). I want to work on my consistency in the small things, the daily acts, and now's as good a time as ever to start.*
Linking up with the community at Soli Deo Gloria today, but before I go, one last note....
*I couldn't leave this post without relating a quick story. I started chatting with the newby at my local Starbucks today. She told me that, when she was training in Seattle, someone had paid for the person behind them in the drive-thru. "Cool," I thought. She went on: "yea, it was cool, but what was even cooler was that the chain literally went on for something-like twenty cars!"
That blew me away. The power of the little things. You never know what impact your one, small act will make!
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Digging Down the Layers
I'm not a patient person. Maybe some of you are, but I, my friends, am not. Most definitely.
I've known this about myself for a while. I knew it when I got married, nearly seven years ago. But during that first year of marriage, that was the year I actively began to pray about it.
I know, I know, some of you are laughing right now. You're thinking back to your first year of marriage and empathizing. Marriage is an adjustment, to say the least. But that's not why I began to pray for patience (although the marriage-adjustment-thing certainly helped me remember to pray consistently!).
I began to intentionally ask God to turn me into a patient person when I realized I married a slow mover.
Do you know any slow movers? Or, better yet, do you know any fast movers? I, until a few years ago, was most definitely a fast mover. And I couldn't have married a slower mover if I tried.
Let me give you some examples:
I would wake up on a typical day (prior to my transformation from fast to medium-slow), and my mind would fly ninety-nine miles per hour. My to-do list would be outlined and categorized before my feet hit the floor. By eight a.m. I would have completed quiet time (check), breakfast (check), dishes (check), laundry (check), letting the dogs out (check), scrolling through the morning news (check), checking and responding to emails (check), dressing for work (check), all while watching the latest, greatest morning show (have to keep up with social stuff - check). My husband, bless him, would still be asleep.
I would talk so fast that he would literally ask me to slow down so that he could understand me. He would talk so slowly that I would literally tap my foot while I waited for him to get his thoughts out.
If he asked me a question, I would have the answer before he had the second word out of his mouth, and I often interrupted him (I know, annoying). If I asked him a question, I would have to suffer through at least one full minute of silence while I waited for him to formulate his response. (You should have seen me...you could probably see the steam coming from my ears as I tried, unsuccessfully, to be patient. It drove me crazy to have to wait!)
Why am I writing about this today? Because, today, strangely enough, none of these things bother me at all. I am far less productive and move much more slowly than he does. (Funny what having a debilitating illness does to a person...it might slow you down, but at least it gives you perspective!) I barely think about how different we are...how he takes a slower pace than I do. That's because he doesn't - not anymore. I've changed. I'm much more 'his pace' - in thought, word, and deed. In fact, in many ways, I'm a slower mover than him (and I love this pace, by the way!).
So what made me remember how it used to be?
I had a moment. You know, one of those moments. It was with my daughter. I can't even remember the details right now, but I know it happened some time last week. I know I was ridiculously impatient, and I know it hurt her.
I also know that nothing - nothing - is worth the look on her face when she felt hurt by my impatience. Whatever I was in a hurry for - getting some errand done or answering a phone call or whatever - it wasn't worth it.
As I felt the pang of the fruit of my impatience, I thought to myself: "oh no, here I go again; and I thought I had come so far."
Then God gave me a picture. He showed me a shovel digging deeper, deeper into the very soil that is my foundation...the place where seeds are planted and nurtured and grown.
For the most part the soil was rich and fertile, but it had a few hard spots that had to be broken up. It had a few rocks that needed to be removed. It had a few leftover roots and weeds, all broken and dead, that needed to be hauled away.
"We're digging down the layers," He said, reminding me that transformation is a process. Think of it as a digging process or a round-the-mountain process - whichever picture helps you the most. Either way, transformation involves revisiting. Going back to a place you've been before does not mean you've failed, moved backwards. It does mean you've made progress - enough progress to make it around the mountain back to the same spot, only you're a little higher this time, or, a little deeper.
Either way, you've come a long way.
Linking up with my SDG girls. Go ahead, take a look and see what this awesome community is all about!
I've known this about myself for a while. I knew it when I got married, nearly seven years ago. But during that first year of marriage, that was the year I actively began to pray about it.
I know, I know, some of you are laughing right now. You're thinking back to your first year of marriage and empathizing. Marriage is an adjustment, to say the least. But that's not why I began to pray for patience (although the marriage-adjustment-thing certainly helped me remember to pray consistently!).
I began to intentionally ask God to turn me into a patient person when I realized I married a slow mover.
Do you know any slow movers? Or, better yet, do you know any fast movers? I, until a few years ago, was most definitely a fast mover. And I couldn't have married a slower mover if I tried.
Let me give you some examples:
I would wake up on a typical day (prior to my transformation from fast to medium-slow), and my mind would fly ninety-nine miles per hour. My to-do list would be outlined and categorized before my feet hit the floor. By eight a.m. I would have completed quiet time (check), breakfast (check), dishes (check), laundry (check), letting the dogs out (check), scrolling through the morning news (check), checking and responding to emails (check), dressing for work (check), all while watching the latest, greatest morning show (have to keep up with social stuff - check). My husband, bless him, would still be asleep.
I would talk so fast that he would literally ask me to slow down so that he could understand me. He would talk so slowly that I would literally tap my foot while I waited for him to get his thoughts out.
If he asked me a question, I would have the answer before he had the second word out of his mouth, and I often interrupted him (I know, annoying). If I asked him a question, I would have to suffer through at least one full minute of silence while I waited for him to formulate his response. (You should have seen me...you could probably see the steam coming from my ears as I tried, unsuccessfully, to be patient. It drove me crazy to have to wait!)
Why am I writing about this today? Because, today, strangely enough, none of these things bother me at all. I am far less productive and move much more slowly than he does. (Funny what having a debilitating illness does to a person...it might slow you down, but at least it gives you perspective!) I barely think about how different we are...how he takes a slower pace than I do. That's because he doesn't - not anymore. I've changed. I'm much more 'his pace' - in thought, word, and deed. In fact, in many ways, I'm a slower mover than him (and I love this pace, by the way!).
So what made me remember how it used to be?
I had a moment. You know, one of those moments. It was with my daughter. I can't even remember the details right now, but I know it happened some time last week. I know I was ridiculously impatient, and I know it hurt her.
I also know that nothing - nothing - is worth the look on her face when she felt hurt by my impatience. Whatever I was in a hurry for - getting some errand done or answering a phone call or whatever - it wasn't worth it.
As I felt the pang of the fruit of my impatience, I thought to myself: "oh no, here I go again; and I thought I had come so far."
Then God gave me a picture. He showed me a shovel digging deeper, deeper into the very soil that is my foundation...the place where seeds are planted and nurtured and grown.
For the most part the soil was rich and fertile, but it had a few hard spots that had to be broken up. It had a few rocks that needed to be removed. It had a few leftover roots and weeds, all broken and dead, that needed to be hauled away.
"We're digging down the layers," He said, reminding me that transformation is a process. Think of it as a digging process or a round-the-mountain process - whichever picture helps you the most. Either way, transformation involves revisiting. Going back to a place you've been before does not mean you've failed, moved backwards. It does mean you've made progress - enough progress to make it around the mountain back to the same spot, only you're a little higher this time, or, a little deeper.
Either way, you've come a long way.
Linking up with my SDG girls. Go ahead, take a look and see what this awesome community is all about!
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Advent, Endings & My Book
Last Sunday one of our Bishops came to visit. She was there to preside over baptisms, confirmations, and receptions. She also had the privilege of preaching on the first Sunday of Advent.
(For those of you who are unfamiliar, Advent is the first season in the Church year. The first Sunday is like New Year's Day in the Episcopal Church. The focus of Advent is Jesus' coming birth, of course, but it is more than that. It's about hope, and expectation, and longings fulfilled. At its core, Advent is about the goodness of God to His people, about the fact that He loved us so much, He sent His only Son to live among us (John 3:16).)
I'm going to be honest here - I only half-listened to the sermon. My husband and I are more-than-normal exhausted. It took everything we had to drag ourselves to church. We did it for the kids. (I'm just being honest.) It's not that we don't value church - we do. But we also value sleep.
So there I was, sitting in the pew, trying to stay awake and pay attention. Phrases kept drifting in and out of my conscious mind. Something about beginnings and endings and intentionality and living in faith.
At some point, her point began to register with me. She was talking about the chosen readings for the day, in particular the Gospel reading from Luke. It's a pretty bleak passage with which to start Advent. I mean, you'd expect to hear some shiny, happy passage about babies and angels, right? Not so, she said. In Advent, in the Church, in this journey called faith, we often start at the ending, rather than the beginning, for it is when we know the ending before we start that we can keep the faith after we begin.
In other words, it's in the assurance of things hoped for where we find the faith to continue walking daily, even when the path seems dark and the journey wearisome. Knowing the end of the story gives us the grace to live intentionally today. And tomorrow. And the next day.
As I sat and listened to Bishop Harrison, I nodded and registered and silently agreed, knowing I would gnaw internally on her words for a while until they revealed some deeper flavor, some nugget of wisdom for which my tired brain searched.
And today, I got a taste of how God might use her words to impact my life. Not in some major, deeply meaningful way, like I expected. Nope. That's not always how God works. Sometimes He's profoundly practical.
Today, as I sat down to my novel, I heard Him say, "begin at the end."
I tried to make it more complicated than it needed to be. I perked up in my chair and began praying, asking God to explain the deeper meaning behind His words. I was looking for some wise insight, something profound. It quickly became clear to me that He was being literal. I simply needed to begin writing the last chapter of my book.
I hope you're smiling here, because I was. Isn't it awesome that we serve a god like that? A god who cares about the very mundane details of our processes? I'm in danger of getting stuck in my writing process. He knows that. So He encourages me. Tangibly. Practically. I have a place to go now - to the end. Something I never would have thought to do.
But I'll bet you that, as I write the end before I have finished the beginning, the middle will be all that much more rich for it.
So are there places in your life where you need to be reminded of the ending, the hope to which you cling, the point toward which you navigate? Are there places where you need to simply let Him speak practically, specifically and "chill out" a little on the deeper meaning of things?
Linking up with Soli Deo Gloria today.
(P.S. For more info on Advent, including some ideas for ways to celebrate, click here.)
(For those of you who are unfamiliar, Advent is the first season in the Church year. The first Sunday is like New Year's Day in the Episcopal Church. The focus of Advent is Jesus' coming birth, of course, but it is more than that. It's about hope, and expectation, and longings fulfilled. At its core, Advent is about the goodness of God to His people, about the fact that He loved us so much, He sent His only Son to live among us (John 3:16).)
I'm going to be honest here - I only half-listened to the sermon. My husband and I are more-than-normal exhausted. It took everything we had to drag ourselves to church. We did it for the kids. (I'm just being honest.) It's not that we don't value church - we do. But we also value sleep.
So there I was, sitting in the pew, trying to stay awake and pay attention. Phrases kept drifting in and out of my conscious mind. Something about beginnings and endings and intentionality and living in faith.
At some point, her point began to register with me. She was talking about the chosen readings for the day, in particular the Gospel reading from Luke. It's a pretty bleak passage with which to start Advent. I mean, you'd expect to hear some shiny, happy passage about babies and angels, right? Not so, she said. In Advent, in the Church, in this journey called faith, we often start at the ending, rather than the beginning, for it is when we know the ending before we start that we can keep the faith after we begin.
In other words, it's in the assurance of things hoped for where we find the faith to continue walking daily, even when the path seems dark and the journey wearisome. Knowing the end of the story gives us the grace to live intentionally today. And tomorrow. And the next day.
As I sat and listened to Bishop Harrison, I nodded and registered and silently agreed, knowing I would gnaw internally on her words for a while until they revealed some deeper flavor, some nugget of wisdom for which my tired brain searched.
And today, I got a taste of how God might use her words to impact my life. Not in some major, deeply meaningful way, like I expected. Nope. That's not always how God works. Sometimes He's profoundly practical.
Today, as I sat down to my novel, I heard Him say, "begin at the end."
I tried to make it more complicated than it needed to be. I perked up in my chair and began praying, asking God to explain the deeper meaning behind His words. I was looking for some wise insight, something profound. It quickly became clear to me that He was being literal. I simply needed to begin writing the last chapter of my book.
I hope you're smiling here, because I was. Isn't it awesome that we serve a god like that? A god who cares about the very mundane details of our processes? I'm in danger of getting stuck in my writing process. He knows that. So He encourages me. Tangibly. Practically. I have a place to go now - to the end. Something I never would have thought to do.
But I'll bet you that, as I write the end before I have finished the beginning, the middle will be all that much more rich for it.
So are there places in your life where you need to be reminded of the ending, the hope to which you cling, the point toward which you navigate? Are there places where you need to simply let Him speak practically, specifically and "chill out" a little on the deeper meaning of things?
Linking up with Soli Deo Gloria today.
(P.S. For more info on Advent, including some ideas for ways to celebrate, click here.)
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Dizzying Thoughts
"It's all in your head."
The voice threatens to overwhelm, to defeat my paltry effort at activity today, today when I am most definitely dragging, using every ounce of energy to pull myself - stroke by stroke - across the pool.
The dizziness comes. I must stop, I think, as I move - pull, kick, glide - down the lane.
I begin to resent, to let the already negative energy I've been battling all morning take me even further down the rabbit hole.
I hate this. I've only just begun. How could I need to stop so soon? Why won't my body cooperate? I don't like the message it's sending me.
"It's all in your head."
The words come again, but, this time, there is only a shadow of the former darkness. I can still see the face of the one who used to tell me that as a child. He meant well. He was trying to toughen me up, to teach me to push through mental battles and succeed in spite of weakness, limitation. He wanted me to learn strength.
I continue to swim, even when I know I shouldn't. I'm succumbing to the old lesson, the "push through" lesson, the "don't listen to yourself" lesson.
Then, the voice comes again, but it is softer, gentler, different yet the same.
"It's all in your head."
It is in my head - the message, the trigger, the flashing light I need to see before I move past the point of no return.
I am dizzy; therefore, I must stop exercising, whether I want to or not.
But it's more than that; somewhere along my journey I have had to learn how to flip a switch inside my head, to turn my thoughts over on themselves so that a new way of thinking comes out on top.
As I swim, I think: "thank you, God. Thank you that it's all in my head. My thoughts do matter, and I need to listen to them."
So I go gentler, move slower, think softer thoughts toward myself, my abilities, my limitations, my weakness.
I think...I can't push through, and I shouldn't. The lesson here is to listen, to honor, to obey the voice inside me that is a gift from my Maker, to embrace my weakness. To give up rather than go on.
The lessons of my youth were meant well. Everyone wants their children to be ready for what will come (and we all know that pain, challenge, stress will come). But they were ill-conceived, missing the key point.
I can not push through; there simply isn't enough strength there. And if I try to force the issue - whatever the issue may be - on my own strength I will ultimately do much more damage than if I had never tried at all.
It's when I embrace that holy truth that I live a much fuller life, a much rounder one, more complete, more perfect. I am, eventually, able to go farther and do more than I ever was, not because of my own strength but because of the strength of the One who binds me.
I'm not saying I'll be able to swim a triatholon any time soon, if ever. Who knows? But I am saying that I'll be able to keep swimming, one arm in front of the other, legs kicking behind, because I chose to stop today.
If I had "pushed through" and hurt myself in the process, it would have taken me weeks to recover (trust me, I've tried that...many times, actually). Instead, by treating myself kindly and honoring my ability to know myself, I will swim again, maybe even tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then definitely the day after.
My recovery time is shortened because I no longer fight to succeed in spite of weakness. I let myself be weak and don't deride myself for my limits, even when it's hard, even when I want to.
I repent. I say "thank you" when I want to complain. I trust that He knows even when I don't understand. I float when I can't stroke until the energy comes back again and I move forward. This is a good feeling. Good in my bones, good in my muscles, and, yes, good in my thoughts.
After all, it is all in my head.
What messages do you need to "flip" upside-down today? How do you need to "go gentler" with yourself?
The voice threatens to overwhelm, to defeat my paltry effort at activity today, today when I am most definitely dragging, using every ounce of energy to pull myself - stroke by stroke - across the pool.
The dizziness comes. I must stop, I think, as I move - pull, kick, glide - down the lane.
I begin to resent, to let the already negative energy I've been battling all morning take me even further down the rabbit hole.
I hate this. I've only just begun. How could I need to stop so soon? Why won't my body cooperate? I don't like the message it's sending me.
"It's all in your head."
The words come again, but, this time, there is only a shadow of the former darkness. I can still see the face of the one who used to tell me that as a child. He meant well. He was trying to toughen me up, to teach me to push through mental battles and succeed in spite of weakness, limitation. He wanted me to learn strength.
I continue to swim, even when I know I shouldn't. I'm succumbing to the old lesson, the "push through" lesson, the "don't listen to yourself" lesson.
Then, the voice comes again, but it is softer, gentler, different yet the same.
"It's all in your head."
It is in my head - the message, the trigger, the flashing light I need to see before I move past the point of no return.
I am dizzy; therefore, I must stop exercising, whether I want to or not.
But it's more than that; somewhere along my journey I have had to learn how to flip a switch inside my head, to turn my thoughts over on themselves so that a new way of thinking comes out on top.
As I swim, I think: "thank you, God. Thank you that it's all in my head. My thoughts do matter, and I need to listen to them."
So I go gentler, move slower, think softer thoughts toward myself, my abilities, my limitations, my weakness.
I think...I can't push through, and I shouldn't. The lesson here is to listen, to honor, to obey the voice inside me that is a gift from my Maker, to embrace my weakness. To give up rather than go on.
The lessons of my youth were meant well. Everyone wants their children to be ready for what will come (and we all know that pain, challenge, stress will come). But they were ill-conceived, missing the key point.
I can not push through; there simply isn't enough strength there. And if I try to force the issue - whatever the issue may be - on my own strength I will ultimately do much more damage than if I had never tried at all.
It's when I embrace that holy truth that I live a much fuller life, a much rounder one, more complete, more perfect. I am, eventually, able to go farther and do more than I ever was, not because of my own strength but because of the strength of the One who binds me.
I'm not saying I'll be able to swim a triatholon any time soon, if ever. Who knows? But I am saying that I'll be able to keep swimming, one arm in front of the other, legs kicking behind, because I chose to stop today.
If I had "pushed through" and hurt myself in the process, it would have taken me weeks to recover (trust me, I've tried that...many times, actually). Instead, by treating myself kindly and honoring my ability to know myself, I will swim again, maybe even tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then definitely the day after.
My recovery time is shortened because I no longer fight to succeed in spite of weakness. I let myself be weak and don't deride myself for my limits, even when it's hard, even when I want to.
I repent. I say "thank you" when I want to complain. I trust that He knows even when I don't understand. I float when I can't stroke until the energy comes back again and I move forward. This is a good feeling. Good in my bones, good in my muscles, and, yes, good in my thoughts.
After all, it is all in my head.
What messages do you need to "flip" upside-down today? How do you need to "go gentler" with yourself?
Saturday, November 3, 2012
How badly do you want it?
This post could also be titled, "careful what you wish for."
My husband, my dear, sweet, amazing husband, is working tonight. Like he has every night recently, even on Sundays, his one day off per week.
Tonight was supposed to be our date night, but he got stuck at work. He hasn't seen the kids for three days because work has pulled him out of town. When he is in town, he works nights, so he rarely sees them anyway. He and I see eachother in the morning, when I'm leaving to take the kids to school, a kiss on the cheek as I walk out the door.
Am I complaining? Maybe. Just a little. If I'm honest. But I'm also just sharing. Because I'm so proud of him.
He's willing to make the hard sacrifices in the short term to get where we want to be, as a family, in the long term. That's what love is (sacrificial). And that's what a husband does (provide). Even when it's hard. Even when it hurts.
I have to be honest: we've had a love/hate relationship with money since we got married. At times, we didn't think it mattered, so we ignored it. At other times, we loved having it and spent it like crazy (trips to Vegas anyone?). At still other times, we've had none, and I do mean none, and we've had to learn how to appreciate it for what it is:
A gift. And a tool.
We've also had an ambivalent relationship to 'provision'. At times, we've felt like it's our job to 'get her done'. At other times, we felt like God would provide no matter what we did or did not do. At still other times, times like now, we know it's both more, and less, complicated than that.
Now, after nearly a year of unemployment and living in the absolute hardest circumstances either of us have ever experienced, we are both so grateful for work. Any work. Even work that keeps us apart.
Our journey has humbled us tremendously. We no longer treat money with disrespect. Nor do we seek after it as if it is the goal. We have grown up. We want money because of what it can do for us, and what we can do with it.
In the last year we have been given countless gifts. The neighbor who showed up with groceries when we weren't sure how we were going to pay our mortgage, much less buy food. The friends who wrote checks to cover medical expenses so I could stay healthy and thrive, not just survive, during this season of being uninsured. Parents who came to our aid through gifts and short-term work. Anonymous church parishioners who asked our priests to give to a church family that needed it, without ever knowing our names or telling us theirs.
Looking back, it's surprising that we were as poor as we were. Why? Because we lived life to the fullest. Truly. Every single thing we needed, and many things that we simply wanted, showed up at exactly the right moment. If you had been watching from the outside, you probably wouldn't believe me if I told you we were on food stamps, and CHIP, and unemployment, all because we couldn't find work and had to rely on help from strangers in order to survive.
Along the way, our hearts changed. We learned how to trust the One who truly provides (every good and perfect gift comes from Him, the Father of Lights...James 1:17). Now, when I think about the bills to be paid or the expenses I know are coming, I don't fixate on how to find a way. I don't look for what I can do or what Justin can do. Instead, I truly know, with all of myself, that we will have what we need. And worrying isn't going to change that fact one bit. All I have to do is ask (Matthew 6:33).
That doesn't mean we don't work or try. I do my best to be a Proverbs 31 mom. I try to manage our household with precision and efficiency, but also with balance, choosing the occasional splurge as an act of faith that I don't have to stockpile in order to be okay. Justin goes to work. I work from home in the nooks and crannies of my day, doing odd jobs here and there. We do our part, making ourselves ready and available to be a vessel of whatever gifts He chooses to give us.
Does that mean we weren't 'doing our part' during the unemployment season? No. It's not that black or white. You can't say "welfare is wrong" or "self-sufficiency is good". Both have their places, their shades of grey. Though we certainly would have preferred to be working and providing for our family on our own, we wouldn't have been changed if we had done.
We wouldn't know - like we do now - that all of our hard work matters not if it's not for the One who created labor in the first place (Genesis 4:2).
Everything we have, everything we are, is because of Him. If I need something, He will provide it (Matthew 6:25-34). There is no reason to worry.
There is no reason to worry.
There is no reason to worry.
I can imagine that many of you are hearing "but..." inside your own head right now. Yes, circumstances don't always agree with what we know to be true. That's the deal. Our circumstances might never change, but our perspectives will. If we let Him change them. I promise you that. If you give yourself over completely to Him, choosing to believe even when you don't have faith, He. will. show. up.
And if we do let Him change our perspectives, our circumstances won't matter as much. We'll find joy in whatever moment in which we find ourselves.
So what will you believe in? Facts and experiences you can't control or promises you can trust?
I've never understood a certain verse from Scripture. In fact, every time I read it - which is often - it sort of makes me angry. It goes like this:
My husband, my dear, sweet, amazing husband, is working tonight. Like he has every night recently, even on Sundays, his one day off per week.
Tonight was supposed to be our date night, but he got stuck at work. He hasn't seen the kids for three days because work has pulled him out of town. When he is in town, he works nights, so he rarely sees them anyway. He and I see eachother in the morning, when I'm leaving to take the kids to school, a kiss on the cheek as I walk out the door.
Am I complaining? Maybe. Just a little. If I'm honest. But I'm also just sharing. Because I'm so proud of him.
He's willing to make the hard sacrifices in the short term to get where we want to be, as a family, in the long term. That's what love is (sacrificial). And that's what a husband does (provide). Even when it's hard. Even when it hurts.
I have to be honest: we've had a love/hate relationship with money since we got married. At times, we didn't think it mattered, so we ignored it. At other times, we loved having it and spent it like crazy (trips to Vegas anyone?). At still other times, we've had none, and I do mean none, and we've had to learn how to appreciate it for what it is:
A gift. And a tool.
We've also had an ambivalent relationship to 'provision'. At times, we've felt like it's our job to 'get her done'. At other times, we felt like God would provide no matter what we did or did not do. At still other times, times like now, we know it's both more, and less, complicated than that.
Now, after nearly a year of unemployment and living in the absolute hardest circumstances either of us have ever experienced, we are both so grateful for work. Any work. Even work that keeps us apart.
Our journey has humbled us tremendously. We no longer treat money with disrespect. Nor do we seek after it as if it is the goal. We have grown up. We want money because of what it can do for us, and what we can do with it.
In the last year we have been given countless gifts. The neighbor who showed up with groceries when we weren't sure how we were going to pay our mortgage, much less buy food. The friends who wrote checks to cover medical expenses so I could stay healthy and thrive, not just survive, during this season of being uninsured. Parents who came to our aid through gifts and short-term work. Anonymous church parishioners who asked our priests to give to a church family that needed it, without ever knowing our names or telling us theirs.
Looking back, it's surprising that we were as poor as we were. Why? Because we lived life to the fullest. Truly. Every single thing we needed, and many things that we simply wanted, showed up at exactly the right moment. If you had been watching from the outside, you probably wouldn't believe me if I told you we were on food stamps, and CHIP, and unemployment, all because we couldn't find work and had to rely on help from strangers in order to survive.
Along the way, our hearts changed. We learned how to trust the One who truly provides (every good and perfect gift comes from Him, the Father of Lights...James 1:17). Now, when I think about the bills to be paid or the expenses I know are coming, I don't fixate on how to find a way. I don't look for what I can do or what Justin can do. Instead, I truly know, with all of myself, that we will have what we need. And worrying isn't going to change that fact one bit. All I have to do is ask (Matthew 6:33).
That doesn't mean we don't work or try. I do my best to be a Proverbs 31 mom. I try to manage our household with precision and efficiency, but also with balance, choosing the occasional splurge as an act of faith that I don't have to stockpile in order to be okay. Justin goes to work. I work from home in the nooks and crannies of my day, doing odd jobs here and there. We do our part, making ourselves ready and available to be a vessel of whatever gifts He chooses to give us.
Does that mean we weren't 'doing our part' during the unemployment season? No. It's not that black or white. You can't say "welfare is wrong" or "self-sufficiency is good". Both have their places, their shades of grey. Though we certainly would have preferred to be working and providing for our family on our own, we wouldn't have been changed if we had done.
We wouldn't know - like we do now - that all of our hard work matters not if it's not for the One who created labor in the first place (Genesis 4:2).
Everything we have, everything we are, is because of Him. If I need something, He will provide it (Matthew 6:25-34). There is no reason to worry.
There is no reason to worry.
There is no reason to worry.
I can imagine that many of you are hearing "but..." inside your own head right now. Yes, circumstances don't always agree with what we know to be true. That's the deal. Our circumstances might never change, but our perspectives will. If we let Him change them. I promise you that. If you give yourself over completely to Him, choosing to believe even when you don't have faith, He. will. show. up.
And if we do let Him change our perspectives, our circumstances won't matter as much. We'll find joy in whatever moment in which we find ourselves.
So what will you believe in? Facts and experiences you can't control or promises you can trust?
I've never understood a certain verse from Scripture. In fact, every time I read it - which is often - it sort of makes me angry. It goes like this:
"The lions may grow weak and hungry,
but those who seek the Lord will lack no good thing."
Psalm 34:10
"How can that be true?" I think to myself. I know many people who seek the Lord but who, from our limited perspective anyway, seem to be lacking in lots of good things. Food, shelter...you only have to look abroad, or down the street, or next door, or in your own house, to know that not everyone is taken care of in the way that I would want, or you would want, or we would want.
But I'm not God, am I? I don't see everything clearly.
I still don't understand it all, but I can tell you this...I'm thankful for this season of poverty and lack.
I'm thankful that I had to wonder how we would feed our kids and cry out to God with everything I had. I'm thankful that I had to confess our situation to our neighbors, shattering any delusion of pride or plenty. I'm thankful that I got to experience life from a different perspective, one I've heretofore only witnessed as an outside observer, sympathetic and condescending, even when I wasn't meaning to be.
I'm thankful that I had to get to the end of myself, again, in a way I never thought possible, because it's there that I once again found God. And now I know Him far better. What's more, I trust Him in ways I could never have imagined trusting. I don't need to understand as much anymore; I simply need to believe.
So yes, the lions may go hungry, but they will also lack no. good. thing.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Childlike Faith
Forgive me.
I'm going to use rather common metaphors to illustrate some revelations God has been slowly working into my consciousness. I hate over-used imagery, but it's what He's doing so here it is.
This morning, my three-year-old daughter Lilian strolled into my bedroom at 5:30.
Did you catch that? 5:30. In the morning!
We normally wake up around 7 so I was, naturally, concerned. What in the blankety-blank could she want at such an ungodly hour?
It turns out her need for me was legitimate. There was a potty issue and a "my back hurts" issue and who knows what else. It was pre-dawn, people; I had a hard time focusing. Needless to say, I tended to her needs with bleary eyes and then pulled her into bed with me, shushing her so that she wouldn't wake up Big Brother (down the hall) or Daddy (one pillow over). I informed her of the task at hand in one simple word: "sleep."
She's three, and she was up, so sleep was most definitely not her top priority. But being with me was. When I tried to get her to go back to her own bed, being way too tired to get up and carry her there myself, she politely refused, opting instead to snuggle under Mommy & Daddy's covers and pretend to sleep just so that she could be near us.
I drifted in and out of consciousness for the next thirty minutes until I finally rolled my you-know-what out of bed, but in my half-awake state I noticed one, simple thing.
My daughter has to be touching me.
Constantly. Preferably with as much of her body as she can. Arms, legs, fingertips, noses, torsos...you name it, she crushed it up against me. I was tickled, patted, snuggled, held, combed...you get the picture. When I turned away from her (I was tired people! Cut me some slack!), she would immediately snuggle up close and throw her arms around me, her tiny limb barely making over my mountain of a profile.
Even in my tired state, I thought, "that's pretty adorable."
And I also thought: "she sure knows how to get her needs met, doesn't she?"
This is something I've often thought about Lily. If she needs something, she goes and gets it. If she can't, then she'll either figure it out or find someone who can help her.
Gunnar, my four-year-old son, also has no problem expressing his needs and wants. He's just a little more dependent when it comes to getting them met. He wants Mommy to do it for him, more often than not (thought that's changing as he gets older), but not Lily. She's been like this since she was a baby. A laid back, low key, get-her-done type of gal. I really like that about her.
While I've reflected on this aspect of her personality a lot, I had yet to extrapolate to a greater truth. Until this morning. In the pre-dawn hours. In my half-awake state. In that moment, it hit me:
Children never apologize for their needs or wants.
And they never hesitate to ask me to meet or fulfill them.
Obviously, this made me think of God. Am I that childlike with my Father? Do I do whatever it takes to get close to Him, snuggling into the nooks and crannies of His frame with unashamed abandon?
But more than thinking of God, Lily's snuggles made me think of my human relationships. It takes trust to put your needs and wants out there, to feel safe enough to express them without fearing reprisal.
My children don't think I'll make fun of them or deny them out of spite. They expect me to take care of them. What's more, they expect me to want to.
Do I expect the same of the people that love me, the people I love? Am I willing to be so open that I am not self-conscious in how I relate to them?
I know I'm not. I'm way too afraid. What will they think of me? Will they hate me, find me needy and annoying, think I'm self-centered, and, ultimately, grow so weary of taking care of me that they leave, in the name of something big and adult like 'boundaries'?*
Or will they - will I - love with abandon in a way that makes me go to the Lord to find the energy I need to give to those who need it?
I'm in a process with this. Not sure exactly where I'll land, if anywhere. It will probably continue to be a process. But I know this morning's tangible picture of Lily smashed up against my backside with her arm thrown over my shoulder won't soon leave me. When the time comes, and I really need it, will I be able to smash myself up against a friend or family member, giving and receiving love with all of myself? I can only hope so.
*Just a quick note to clarify: I definitely believe in boundaries. We need to be able to self-love in order to love outwardly. But I also think we often put up too many roadblocks to authenticity and that, sometimes, we could use a little abandon where the boundary walls have become too thick.
Linking up with Soli Deo Gloria today, because it's Tuesday. :)
I'm going to use rather common metaphors to illustrate some revelations God has been slowly working into my consciousness. I hate over-used imagery, but it's what He's doing so here it is.
This morning, my three-year-old daughter Lilian strolled into my bedroom at 5:30.
Did you catch that? 5:30. In the morning!
We normally wake up around 7 so I was, naturally, concerned. What in the blankety-blank could she want at such an ungodly hour?
It turns out her need for me was legitimate. There was a potty issue and a "my back hurts" issue and who knows what else. It was pre-dawn, people; I had a hard time focusing. Needless to say, I tended to her needs with bleary eyes and then pulled her into bed with me, shushing her so that she wouldn't wake up Big Brother (down the hall) or Daddy (one pillow over). I informed her of the task at hand in one simple word: "sleep."
She's three, and she was up, so sleep was most definitely not her top priority. But being with me was. When I tried to get her to go back to her own bed, being way too tired to get up and carry her there myself, she politely refused, opting instead to snuggle under Mommy & Daddy's covers and pretend to sleep just so that she could be near us.
I drifted in and out of consciousness for the next thirty minutes until I finally rolled my you-know-what out of bed, but in my half-awake state I noticed one, simple thing.
My daughter has to be touching me.
Constantly. Preferably with as much of her body as she can. Arms, legs, fingertips, noses, torsos...you name it, she crushed it up against me. I was tickled, patted, snuggled, held, combed...you get the picture. When I turned away from her (I was tired people! Cut me some slack!), she would immediately snuggle up close and throw her arms around me, her tiny limb barely making over my mountain of a profile.
Even in my tired state, I thought, "that's pretty adorable."
And I also thought: "she sure knows how to get her needs met, doesn't she?"
This is something I've often thought about Lily. If she needs something, she goes and gets it. If she can't, then she'll either figure it out or find someone who can help her.
Gunnar, my four-year-old son, also has no problem expressing his needs and wants. He's just a little more dependent when it comes to getting them met. He wants Mommy to do it for him, more often than not (thought that's changing as he gets older), but not Lily. She's been like this since she was a baby. A laid back, low key, get-her-done type of gal. I really like that about her.
While I've reflected on this aspect of her personality a lot, I had yet to extrapolate to a greater truth. Until this morning. In the pre-dawn hours. In my half-awake state. In that moment, it hit me:
Children never apologize for their needs or wants.
And they never hesitate to ask me to meet or fulfill them.
Obviously, this made me think of God. Am I that childlike with my Father? Do I do whatever it takes to get close to Him, snuggling into the nooks and crannies of His frame with unashamed abandon?
But more than thinking of God, Lily's snuggles made me think of my human relationships. It takes trust to put your needs and wants out there, to feel safe enough to express them without fearing reprisal.
My children don't think I'll make fun of them or deny them out of spite. They expect me to take care of them. What's more, they expect me to want to.
Do I expect the same of the people that love me, the people I love? Am I willing to be so open that I am not self-conscious in how I relate to them?
I know I'm not. I'm way too afraid. What will they think of me? Will they hate me, find me needy and annoying, think I'm self-centered, and, ultimately, grow so weary of taking care of me that they leave, in the name of something big and adult like 'boundaries'?*
Or will they - will I - love with abandon in a way that makes me go to the Lord to find the energy I need to give to those who need it?
I'm in a process with this. Not sure exactly where I'll land, if anywhere. It will probably continue to be a process. But I know this morning's tangible picture of Lily smashed up against my backside with her arm thrown over my shoulder won't soon leave me. When the time comes, and I really need it, will I be able to smash myself up against a friend or family member, giving and receiving love with all of myself? I can only hope so.
*Just a quick note to clarify: I definitely believe in boundaries. We need to be able to self-love in order to love outwardly. But I also think we often put up too many roadblocks to authenticity and that, sometimes, we could use a little abandon where the boundary walls have become too thick.
Linking up with Soli Deo Gloria today, because it's Tuesday. :)
Ramblings & What Not
Hi.
I'm supposed to write a post today.
Let me explain that: technically, I should write a post every Monday or Tuesday, so that it will be ready for my weekly link-up with the online community called Soli Deo Gloria. Somehow, I never quite 'get her done' that early in the week, so here I am.
Furthermore, I'm "supposed" to write a post today because that's where I hear God leading. I sat down with Him this morning, at my computer, as I do every Tuesday and Thursday, ready to work on my novel. No. Eager to work on my novel. I'm loving the flow right now and can't wait to get to it whenever I have a spare moment.
(Side note: for those of you keeping track, I'm on revision two of my first novel. I've written it, revised it, gotten feedback, and now I'm revising again. This is the best iteration yet. I really like it! Woo-hoo! Feel free to give a little cheer in my honor.)
So, back to my point, I sat down, ready to go, and heard the Lord say, "write a post."
Ugh, I thought.
"About what?" I asked. No clear answer, just the same voice I hear saying in my head, "write a post."
Now I realize that it's rather brave of me, if I do say so myself, to put out there, for the entire blog world to read, that I hear voices in my head. (And what's more, I sometimes listen to them....) But, I figure we all hear voices; we just don't normally talk about it out loud, to other people, who might think you're, you know, unbalanced.
Don't worry, I'm definitely unbalanced. You don't have to wonder about it; I can just about guarantee it.
That might be where I am, but it's not where I'm going. I'm in a lifelong journey toward balance, a journey that involves seasons of pendulum swings, settled equilibrium, steps forward, leaps backward. If I were to claim that I've achieved it, I'd be lieing. I'm closer than I was but not as close as I can be. How's that for clarity?
I seek balance because I truly believe that that's where God lives. Some wouldn't agree with me. They'd point out how radical Jesus was (is), and they'd be right as well. They'd interpret the word 'balance' to mean compromise, 'tolerance' as relativism, and 'grace' as giving in. We're supposed to fight for truth and justice, after all.
Like I said, there are aspects of those interpretations that I agree with. As Christians, we are called to stand up for something greater and not apologize for it. But we can't pretend to understand it completely, to understand Him or this journey called Christen-dom.
Since we don't know everything, can't know everything, we have to be open to other ideas, interpretations. We need to be genuinely sensitive to other perspectives, allowing for the possibility that we might not see the whole picture. And we need to be willing to meet in the middle in order to function as a whole body, not a fractured one.
I guess when I talk about balance I'm not just referring to support, where beams must be placed strategically on all sides of a structure in order to make it stand upright. And I'm not just referencing that 'happy place' between anger and euphoria, where one can receive what the world gives without becoming controlled by it.
I'm speaking about a space of grace where not everything has to fit together and have its place. A space where I can serve a radical, fierce God and a God that pulls me toward tolerance and grace. A lover and a fighter all rolled into one.
Ultimately, I'm talking about a place where I do not have to understand. Where questions can go unanswered. Where the unknown can remain unknown and I can be okay with it.
Balance is a fluid place. Like a tree that bends in the wind, we have to be willing to move in order to be able to stand.
In this space, faith prevails and grace abides.
So I don't have to know what to write about, exactly; I just have to write.
Where's your balance? What does God call you toward that helps hold you upright in good times and bad? Can you remain in a space of incongruities and simply let it be?
I'm supposed to write a post today.
Let me explain that: technically, I should write a post every Monday or Tuesday, so that it will be ready for my weekly link-up with the online community called Soli Deo Gloria. Somehow, I never quite 'get her done' that early in the week, so here I am.
Furthermore, I'm "supposed" to write a post today because that's where I hear God leading. I sat down with Him this morning, at my computer, as I do every Tuesday and Thursday, ready to work on my novel. No. Eager to work on my novel. I'm loving the flow right now and can't wait to get to it whenever I have a spare moment.
(Side note: for those of you keeping track, I'm on revision two of my first novel. I've written it, revised it, gotten feedback, and now I'm revising again. This is the best iteration yet. I really like it! Woo-hoo! Feel free to give a little cheer in my honor.)
So, back to my point, I sat down, ready to go, and heard the Lord say, "write a post."
Ugh, I thought.
"About what?" I asked. No clear answer, just the same voice I hear saying in my head, "write a post."
Now I realize that it's rather brave of me, if I do say so myself, to put out there, for the entire blog world to read, that I hear voices in my head. (And what's more, I sometimes listen to them....) But, I figure we all hear voices; we just don't normally talk about it out loud, to other people, who might think you're, you know, unbalanced.
Don't worry, I'm definitely unbalanced. You don't have to wonder about it; I can just about guarantee it.
That might be where I am, but it's not where I'm going. I'm in a lifelong journey toward balance, a journey that involves seasons of pendulum swings, settled equilibrium, steps forward, leaps backward. If I were to claim that I've achieved it, I'd be lieing. I'm closer than I was but not as close as I can be. How's that for clarity?
I seek balance because I truly believe that that's where God lives. Some wouldn't agree with me. They'd point out how radical Jesus was (is), and they'd be right as well. They'd interpret the word 'balance' to mean compromise, 'tolerance' as relativism, and 'grace' as giving in. We're supposed to fight for truth and justice, after all.
Like I said, there are aspects of those interpretations that I agree with. As Christians, we are called to stand up for something greater and not apologize for it. But we can't pretend to understand it completely, to understand Him or this journey called Christen-dom.
Since we don't know everything, can't know everything, we have to be open to other ideas, interpretations. We need to be genuinely sensitive to other perspectives, allowing for the possibility that we might not see the whole picture. And we need to be willing to meet in the middle in order to function as a whole body, not a fractured one.
I guess when I talk about balance I'm not just referring to support, where beams must be placed strategically on all sides of a structure in order to make it stand upright. And I'm not just referencing that 'happy place' between anger and euphoria, where one can receive what the world gives without becoming controlled by it.
I'm speaking about a space of grace where not everything has to fit together and have its place. A space where I can serve a radical, fierce God and a God that pulls me toward tolerance and grace. A lover and a fighter all rolled into one.
Ultimately, I'm talking about a place where I do not have to understand. Where questions can go unanswered. Where the unknown can remain unknown and I can be okay with it.
Balance is a fluid place. Like a tree that bends in the wind, we have to be willing to move in order to be able to stand.
In this space, faith prevails and grace abides.
So I don't have to know what to write about, exactly; I just have to write.
Where's your balance? What does God call you toward that helps hold you upright in good times and bad? Can you remain in a space of incongruities and simply let it be?
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Holy Yoga
I'm back. I know, I've missed you too. But, to be honest, I've stayed away on purpose. There have been a few posts here and there, of course, just to let you know I'm alive, but I haven't been present. Not really. I've been avoiding you. There. I said it. And that's the truth.
Why?
I'll tell you. Since round-about July I've felt this little tug on my heart, the Holy Spirit gently pulling at the edges of me to do something I absolutely, positively do not want to do. And since I didn't want to go where He is calling me, I simply avoided the issue altogether. (You can't relate, can you?)
What was the tug?
Exposure
Vulnerability.
Authenticity.
There are things I don't talk about. Things from my past that I, honestly, don't know how to talk about. Not yet. But I come here and I write and I give...parts of myself. I package my pain and hide the truly awful parts behind the only sort-of embarrassing moments. I let you see what I want you to see in a way that I know will impress. You'll say, "wow, thank you for sharing," or, "thank you for being so vulnerable."
I am being vulnerable, truthfully I am, but there's more. There's more that I don't want to share. There's more that is so painful, still, that I can't even go there inside my own head, much less in this completely public forum called a blog.
Last weekend I went to a retreat. The Soli Deo Gloria retreat put on by my dear friend Jennifer Ferguson. We're a community of female bloggers that link up every Tuesday. Some of us also meet "boots on the ground" at Jen's Bible Study Monday mornings at St. Luke's on the Lake, Austin, Texas. Some of us are just friends who became part of this group because another friend invited us. Our purpose is to serve Christ and encourage one another.
The retreat blew me away, and I highly recommend that you join us - online, at church, or at our next gathering. It's amazing what happens when we retreat, when we leave the noise of our lives and create a space to meet with God. He loves community. He loves vulnerability. He loves to use us to help one another. ("As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." Proverbs 27:17) If we stay in our hiddenness, we remain dull.
On Saturday afternoon at the retreat a wonderful woman from Ignite came in to lead us in a yoga class. She led us through a series of postures, half of which help you physically open your chest to make room for your heart. She kept saying, "lift your heart".
I kept thinking, "I can't lift my heart to you, God, if I remain closed." There has to be a willingness to become vulnerable for there to be space to reach for Him.
Interestingly enough, it's these poses in yoga that are the 'energetic' poses. As I bent my head, shoulders, chest backwards, imagining my heart connected by a string to the ceiling above me, I could feel energy pulsing throughout my body. It's when I let go and exposed my vulnerable place that strength coursed through me.
So, I will keep meeting you here. I will try to be as authentic as possible, bringing all of myself into this space. I'm sure it won't look pretty at times, I'm sure I will "fail" and be less than authentic, but I'll keep trying. And I know that He will honor it, just as He does whenever we choose to trust in Him.
Linking up with Soli Deo Gloria this week.
Why?
I'll tell you. Since round-about July I've felt this little tug on my heart, the Holy Spirit gently pulling at the edges of me to do something I absolutely, positively do not want to do. And since I didn't want to go where He is calling me, I simply avoided the issue altogether. (You can't relate, can you?)
What was the tug?
Exposure
Vulnerability.
Authenticity.
There are things I don't talk about. Things from my past that I, honestly, don't know how to talk about. Not yet. But I come here and I write and I give...parts of myself. I package my pain and hide the truly awful parts behind the only sort-of embarrassing moments. I let you see what I want you to see in a way that I know will impress. You'll say, "wow, thank you for sharing," or, "thank you for being so vulnerable."
I am being vulnerable, truthfully I am, but there's more. There's more that I don't want to share. There's more that is so painful, still, that I can't even go there inside my own head, much less in this completely public forum called a blog.
Last weekend I went to a retreat. The Soli Deo Gloria retreat put on by my dear friend Jennifer Ferguson. We're a community of female bloggers that link up every Tuesday. Some of us also meet "boots on the ground" at Jen's Bible Study Monday mornings at St. Luke's on the Lake, Austin, Texas. Some of us are just friends who became part of this group because another friend invited us. Our purpose is to serve Christ and encourage one another.
The retreat blew me away, and I highly recommend that you join us - online, at church, or at our next gathering. It's amazing what happens when we retreat, when we leave the noise of our lives and create a space to meet with God. He loves community. He loves vulnerability. He loves to use us to help one another. ("As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." Proverbs 27:17) If we stay in our hiddenness, we remain dull.
On Saturday afternoon at the retreat a wonderful woman from Ignite came in to lead us in a yoga class. She led us through a series of postures, half of which help you physically open your chest to make room for your heart. She kept saying, "lift your heart".
I kept thinking, "I can't lift my heart to you, God, if I remain closed." There has to be a willingness to become vulnerable for there to be space to reach for Him.
Interestingly enough, it's these poses in yoga that are the 'energetic' poses. As I bent my head, shoulders, chest backwards, imagining my heart connected by a string to the ceiling above me, I could feel energy pulsing throughout my body. It's when I let go and exposed my vulnerable place that strength coursed through me.
So, I will keep meeting you here. I will try to be as authentic as possible, bringing all of myself into this space. I'm sure it won't look pretty at times, I'm sure I will "fail" and be less than authentic, but I'll keep trying. And I know that He will honor it, just as He does whenever we choose to trust in Him.
Linking up with Soli Deo Gloria this week.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Getting Schooled
Woo-Hoo!!!!!
And.....Yee-Haw!!!!!!
I'm all giddy with excitement today. The kids are happily installed at their new preschool, and I'm alone - truly alone - for the first time in months.
Not that my husband didn't give me reprieves over the summer, for he certainly did. There's a difference, though, in routine. In knowing that they're where they're supposed to be, and I have no pressure to make it back in time to relieve my other half.
We prayed and prayed and prayed before putting them in preschool. They've been in preschool or mom's day out since they were months old, but this year I particularly evaluated the choice. I'm a stay-at-home mom. We had already told last year's school we weren't coming back because we thought we were moving cities (which we aren't, by the way). My husband is currently looking for work. So, shouldn't they stay home full-time?
Logically, I thought the answer was yes. Money is tight, and my heart is - has always been - to be their primary everything (including educator). The decision was simple, hardly a decision at all. But then I prayed. And the unexpected popped into my brain. St. Michael's.
Hmmm, I thought, what did you say?
St. Michael's, came the answer (as it would continue to come for many weeks of praying after that first day in late July).
St. Michael's is our church. It's wonderful, and the preschool has an amazing reputation. Beyond that, the preschool's approach to learning seems to be prefect for our son, in particular. But, the school is relatively expensive, and it also happens to be thirty minutes away from our house. One way.
So, more money on school that isn't necessary, and more money on gas, and less time for mommy to write, and am I abandoning my duty as a mom by putting them in school? These are the thoughts that had me waffling on the decision for some weeks. So, I asked again, what did you say?
Isn't it funny that God works like this? I'm sharing this story because (a) I'm so excited that school has started again I can't help talking about it! And, (b) there's a salient point here.
God sees the big picture; we don't.
God has the plan; we don't.
God tells us the next step; we need to take it.
I don't completely understand why we're at a new place - a place that seems totally beyond us, as if it's off the side of where we're standing instead of directly in front of us on the path we thought we were walking. It will take a giant leap to get from where we are to this new spot over to the right. A giant leap of faith, that is, because the rest, after all, is just details.
I don't quite get it, but, I also don't need to understand. Because, I know God. I know that He knows. I find such confidence and, yes, JOY in that knowledge, that hope. There are treasures here, in this new place, that He knows we will discover along the way. That's part of my excitement as well. We have left one season behind and started another, and that's always a fun adventure.
So, here's to new beginnings! May yours be filled with the joy of discovery as well. En-joy.
Linking up with my friends at Soli Deo Gloria today. This is the last week to secure a discounted hotel room for the October retreat. Don't forget! We're going to have a great time, and you are invited!!!!
And.....Yee-Haw!!!!!!
I'm all giddy with excitement today. The kids are happily installed at their new preschool, and I'm alone - truly alone - for the first time in months.
Not that my husband didn't give me reprieves over the summer, for he certainly did. There's a difference, though, in routine. In knowing that they're where they're supposed to be, and I have no pressure to make it back in time to relieve my other half.
We prayed and prayed and prayed before putting them in preschool. They've been in preschool or mom's day out since they were months old, but this year I particularly evaluated the choice. I'm a stay-at-home mom. We had already told last year's school we weren't coming back because we thought we were moving cities (which we aren't, by the way). My husband is currently looking for work. So, shouldn't they stay home full-time?
Logically, I thought the answer was yes. Money is tight, and my heart is - has always been - to be their primary everything (including educator). The decision was simple, hardly a decision at all. But then I prayed. And the unexpected popped into my brain. St. Michael's.
Hmmm, I thought, what did you say?
St. Michael's, came the answer (as it would continue to come for many weeks of praying after that first day in late July).
St. Michael's is our church. It's wonderful, and the preschool has an amazing reputation. Beyond that, the preschool's approach to learning seems to be prefect for our son, in particular. But, the school is relatively expensive, and it also happens to be thirty minutes away from our house. One way.
So, more money on school that isn't necessary, and more money on gas, and less time for mommy to write, and am I abandoning my duty as a mom by putting them in school? These are the thoughts that had me waffling on the decision for some weeks. So, I asked again, what did you say?
Isn't it funny that God works like this? I'm sharing this story because (a) I'm so excited that school has started again I can't help talking about it! And, (b) there's a salient point here.
God sees the big picture; we don't.
God has the plan; we don't.
God tells us the next step; we need to take it.
I don't completely understand why we're at a new place - a place that seems totally beyond us, as if it's off the side of where we're standing instead of directly in front of us on the path we thought we were walking. It will take a giant leap to get from where we are to this new spot over to the right. A giant leap of faith, that is, because the rest, after all, is just details.
I don't quite get it, but, I also don't need to understand. Because, I know God. I know that He knows. I find such confidence and, yes, JOY in that knowledge, that hope. There are treasures here, in this new place, that He knows we will discover along the way. That's part of my excitement as well. We have left one season behind and started another, and that's always a fun adventure.
So, here's to new beginnings! May yours be filled with the joy of discovery as well. En-joy.
Linking up with my friends at Soli Deo Gloria today. This is the last week to secure a discounted hotel room for the October retreat. Don't forget! We're going to have a great time, and you are invited!!!!
Saturday, August 25, 2012
"Eat well"
It must be the Lord. I ran into a dear friend at the grocery store this morning. We swapped stories about health struggles. It turns out that (a) we both walk with them in our families daily; and (b) we both approach them via a mixture of western medicine & alternative approaches. I was deeply encouraged to find another person who understands what my family has been going through in a real, true way.
Then, I happened over to a blog I've started following and read this:
http://willingcook.com/welcoming-kelly-of-the-nourishing-home/
Then, I happened over to a blog I've started following and read this:
http://willingcook.com/welcoming-kelly-of-the-nourishing-home/
Her story could be my own, except that I'm still trying to implement many of the changes she's already made. I'm so grateful for this blogging friend. She spurs me on.
So, in two ways today I am reminded of what the Lord said to me when I was at my lowest and conventional medicine was not helping.
Quite simply, He said: "eat well."
I am reminded that I must keep seeking, keep experimenting, keep refining my approach.
I am reminded how the most complicated of unknown places often has the most simple way of becoming clear.
The "real food" or "whole food" or "clean" eating movement is, ultimately, about decluttering. It's about ending up where we should have started from all along. It's about cleaning out the pantry of our motives - all those impetuses that move us forward - until what's left is pure, white, clean. It's about laying down what we want or crave and picking up what we need. It's about letting go of entitlement and instead choosing holy desire, which is where real fulfillment takes place.
Once we've changed what drives us we'll change what we want. And then, we can begin filling up those pantry shelves with real, life-sustaining food that will lead us to honor God not only with our lips, but with our bodies as well.
This is easier said than done. It is, most definitely, a process. A year and a half after that word - "eat well" - I'm not even close to being fully obedient.
But I'm trying. I'm engaging. And I'm so, so thankful He has called me here.
My prayer for you is that you don't have to face a health crisis to start making changes that will move you toward greater health. My prayer for you is that you will experience conviction without crisis. My prayer for you is for wholeness and integration in all areas of your life - the physical and metaphysical.
No matter how you get there, my prayer is that you - and we, all of us in this nation, actually - do get there...that we arrive at the conclusion that we cannot keep poisoning ourselves with food that is actually non-food...that we will, as a nation, shift toward local, sustainable, whole, not because it's trendy but because it's Godly.
That we will collectively choose what we actually hunger for and make a daily effort to "eat well."
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