a birthing of a God-sized dream

Stories connect to other stories and suddenly there's an afghan-length of thread to sort through with the beginning knit so tightly with all the others that it's unrecognizable. Such is the way with how to navigate where the journey began for me to discover the simplicity, breadth and depth of love.

For a long time I tried to be a fixer -- of situations, of circumstances, of hearts, of people. I lived a lot of my first 35 years as an anxious person who tried to control every single thing, including people.

The truth is, no matter how hard I try there's quite possibly someone I won't please, or something that I've overlooked, or a better way. Still, I expended an inordinate amount of energy on a highly unlikely outcome of perfection; it was a bit like insanity.

Eventually I realized how completely exhausting it is to constantly be on the lookout for brokenness. I sat there with all that wasn't whole and considered what it might mean to simply and fully loose all that I grasped with my hands.

Like a bird set free, my unfurled fingers gave permission for dreams and wants and visions to fly away . . . for me and even for others. 

This unfurling made space for new things to find their way in my hand and new people to find their way into my heart; things and people I hadn't anticipated or even considered.

In the loosing, I went through a period of grief in which my tendencies were shaken. Muscles were learning a new way of being, no longer constantly constricted. I learned to be patient with myself as I navigated this new way of living. Still, I found myself afraid of the openness that became of the new-found space in my hand and was tempted to grip those fingers tight again. The joy I felt was almost too much to bear.

The restful state I was living in was almost dream-like and I feared waking up from a slumber that resembled a fantasy-like world because, surely, I thought, the bottom would eventually fall out. I was afraid of living happy-clappy and not being prepared enough for the hard times, so I tried to brace myself and quickly realized that it was the reverting back to a constricted way of living.

Slowly, I discovered that there are people surrounding me who actually love me as I am; I don't have to do anything or be anyone differently.

There are people who see something in my brokenness that is more beautiful than I'll ever see. 

People who think that I am perfectly imperfect. People who accept me and adore me. Period.

I had slammed the windows shut and bolted the door tight so many of those people would stop looking at me and talking to me and thinking of me. Because I imagined I was a nuisance and a pest, a hypocrite who wanted to change and who couldn't. And then one day I thought about how lonely it feels to always be by myself, running from here to there and making it a sport. So, I chose to open the windows and let in the cool breeze. I opened the door and let in all the people. It was one of those moments when I decided to test God and see if I really would be okay.

And it felt like nakedness, I tell you.

Letting people in made me want to scream: Hand-me-a-bathrobe-please! Because it's scary to be standing there all red in the face and raw from the tight-grip life. It's vulnerable and incredibly uncomfortable. Yet, those people knew all of that about me before I did. And they stayed. I didn't need to send out invitations to welcome people back in, they were just there -- smiling and cheering for me the whole time.

I used to not want to be seen anywhere I went. 

I'd wear a baseball cap and flit my eyes around people to the "others" I presumed were more important. I avoided fitness centers and churches and coffee shops and parades. I wanted to be among but to actually be incognito. Secretly, I wanted to be seen and known, and deep inside I begrudged the people who just didn't try hard enough to see through my tough-girl image. I had created a story in which I made myself the victim and everyone else the villain.

I realized a lot as I considered all the people who remained in my life even though I tried to hide. Though I cannot control the future, I can choose how I react to today. I can hold my hand open and my fingers loose for whatever might find a new perch with me, or let what needs to fly away simply go, all the while living in a state of rest. I can trust God with me, as I am, and with my life, as it is. I learned that love looks at a person with empathy and says, "I get you more than you realize" and "I've been there, too".

Love allows us to hope even when we fear.

Love bolsters us in the midst of fear in a way that doesn't hide the truth of potential reality
     . . . and love reminds us that it is safe to celebrate joy, as it is.

Love knows that we're all humans starving for grace.
Love knows that no one is better than another.
Love knows that we all have something about us that makes us needy and needed.

I started letting my face show and my voice be heard, and you know what? I didn't die. My worst fears didn't come true.

I was most surprised at the head nods and me-too's that I heard, affirming that I belong and I matter. 

As it turns out, that feeling of nakedness is actually quite freeing (though I promise you that I won't be making it habit to streak bare-butted across my neighborhood.)

Nowadays I like the girl I see in the mirror; I love her, in fact. I accept her and treasure her, as. she. is.

And nowadays, though I honestly still struggle with grasping for control and find that my muscles twitch in a restless-like way as they continue to learn how to rest and simply let things (and especially people) be, as they are, I am passionate about encouraging others to loose their tightly gripped fists and to simply accept their lives, as. it. is.

When we decide not to fix the brokenness and simply be, we reflect that we trust that the One who created us designed us with deliberate intention.

And when we embrace ourselves as we are, our lives reflect a living worship; the real kind that says, "I receive your love. You are enough for me."

Might we embrace our stories as they are.
Might we seek to know God and find peace.
Might we redefine strong and bravely live naked, trusting Him -- as we are.

: : : 

I said "Yes" to a crazy vision that didn't make any sense to me.

Slowly, passion and joy for this God-sized dream unfurled.

Birthed today, this here is a collection of hearts who have chosen to embrace life, as it is --
     . . . this is C'est La Vie: The Magazine:

Visit C'est La Vie: The Magazine on Facebook. 

a trust thing

When you chase so hard after something you are certain is part of your story --

. . . and you find that it's not what you wanted, necessarily,
          it's just what you believed would be true . . .

. . . and all those years of worrying that you might possibly be wrong,
          that there's no guarantee your dreams will ever come to be . . .

. . . and something monumental actually does happen . . .

. . . and it happens in you . . .

Such was the case with me.

: : : 

I wanted to believe.
I wanted to know God is real.
I wanted to know in my own knock-my-socks-off way.

I thought I wasn't good enough, that perhaps He was annoyed and irritated with me like I was with myself, and like I imagined so many other people were with me.
   
All my fears, all the anxiety I carried around with me . . . it all became asked of me as possibilities to consider.

     What if my groom dies while we're still in the midst of raising him?

     What if our son dies?

     What if we die and leave him alone?

     What if I lose my job?

     What if I get sick and die?

     What if this dream never comes true?

     What if I never have the close relationships I longed for all those years?

To face fear is the only way to move through it. 

To avoid it or be quiet about it, only allows it to stick around longer and take up residence, keeping me frozen.

Do I trust Him? That is actually the real question to all my anxiety.

I always made every anxiety about Me.

I tried to ensure certain possibilities by eating a certain way, or working out a certain way, or learning all I can to fix all the things.

What if it isn't really about me?

What if someone in the crossfires of my story actually needs to be there for God to do some miraculous work in their lives?

What if the challenges my groom and I face with our son are really the way God will draw Boy-Man to His heart?

What if my imperfections are a way for someone else -- possibly someone who isn't even within my close knit circle -- to see the Hand and Face of God?

Do I trust Him with life, as it is?

: : : 

I think about the times I've lived reckless, the times I threw my hands up and pitched a little fit, pretending I didn't care. I contrast those choices with how my life is at this very moment and I am utterly amazed, incredibly humbled, and in slack-jawed awe.

Where my life is at is nothing short of a miracle. It is most definitely a reflection of the Hand of God, there is simply no other explanation. Because, I certainly haven't done enough good to be here, and it certainly can't be luck that brought me here.

My life is a reflection of Grace that says I am loved, as I am. 

There is nothing I need do to earn favor when my heart longs to honor Him, even though I can tend to selfishly want what I want.

I've realized that I can trust Him.

I can be naked, fully exposing who I am
     . . . and I will be held
     . . . safe and secure.

joy in the midst of the battle

I wish I could say the battle is over and I've won when it comes to the body image tug-o-war my heart and my mind push/pull over.

The truth is, the battle is real and still very much alive.

That said, I have gotten to a place where I am more content with myself than I ever have been. With myself and with my life, as it is and as my story book reads.

I now accept my curves as symbols of physical strength to play with my young-ins and run distances to see the glorious view. I look at these curves as providing "reserve" to my body in the event that I ever get physically weak from sickness.Most of all, these curves are symbols of freedom to eat what I enjoy and to not restrict myself like I often did with rules upon rules for what I can or cannot eat and when.

I now accept my edges as symbols of my "need" for Grace and Christ's strength that is given power through my own prideful, rough, tense, judgmental, and sometimes terse way. These edges can come across as demanding or belittling or a bit too forthright, though they are softer and even I am surprised sometimes.

My weaknesses are a humbling opportunity to be reminded I will always be human. On a fairly every day basis I am reminded the battle is real.

When friends or acquaintances comment on my growing belly and how I am carrying this pregnancy, I try to soak in their words. I am human and like most people, I appreciate all the wonderful comments. The truth is, though, those comments eat me up. There has been a time when I've wanted more and more and was never satisfied, like an addiction.

When someone tells me the weight I've gained only appears to be in my ball-shaped belly, I fear the coming weeks when my face might blow up and I'll be rounder in more places than just there. Where will their comments be then? Will people just lie?

As I appreciate all the comments -- I really do! -- I have sometimes wished folks would steer clear of always commenting on my physical appearance as the first thing they say. But, they don't. And it's my problem, not theirs.

A few months ago I started to just give thanks for the way folks say that I "glow".

I decided to hope it's Joy they see, as if it is seeping out of my pours. 

Joy was a hard-pressed thing for me to receive, truth-be-told. I wish it wasn't, especially given the long and painful journey of aching for that which I hoped for, believing in my soul it would be and yet having to wait for so long to see it realized.

I went through years of anger and doubt, confusion and anxiousness. Friends who didn't have children when I had my first have since had a handful, and all the while I sat by and watched, waiting for my day for just one more.

I assumed something was wrong with me or I wasn't good enough for the dream I held so close to my heart and couldn't shake no matter how much cajoling or convincing I did to myself. No matter what, the dream I carried was so hope-filled, even though I couldn't make a speck of sense out of it.

When I learned we were actually expecting a second child, I was so afraid to receive it and tried to protect my weary heart from premature joy. Yet, I knew in my soul there was something to be joyful about. There weren't any guarantees I would actually hold or raise this babe, though there was life, as it was. Even now I remember this with only a handful of weeks until the due date and after a night of having a dream we lost him. There is life, Now -- as it is.

I choose joy, because, this matters. 

     Even the journey . . . 
     Even my aching and weary heart . . . 
     Even my struggle with compliments . . . 

The process of pregnancy and parenting is realizing just how not in control we are. It's a wrestle of self and we often sabotage our opportunity to see something beautiful in an attempt to be good and to get it right (whatever that means or looks like).

So on days when I want to crawl into bed and throw the covers on my head (if it weren't so darn uncomfortable!), and I walk down the hallway at work with my head hanging low and mumble to my colleagues in a less than enthusiastic tone, I reach for Grace.

On days when I meet up with a good friend and she says with a smile, "the baby is growing!" and points to the evidence of my increased belly size and I just scrunch up my nose, I reach for Grace.

These are the days when I'm reminded I am a human who is loved, as I am. 

When I'm moody, tentative, or insecure, I remember I am no better or worse than another person. Even if someone else doesn't share the same struggles as me, mine aren't to be denied or dismissed; we all have some. thing.

Might this alone be enough to give us comfort in community? 

We all have a shared frailty as humans. I remind myself of this, constantly. This is what helps me to let my rawness be seen and to be real about my struggles.

It isn't with everyone I open my heart to, it's those who ask with a genuine heart and those who I sense really do care.

I try not to judge or be angry at the ones who aren't honest and who aren't as invested in going there -- to the heart of the soul. 

I remind myself how difficult it is for me on a daily basis, sometimes most especially with those who know me and can see right through my tendency to want to tuck into my turtle-shell.

I don't have to perfect a lesson or even perfectly loose my issues, even though I make unfair expectations and grow impatient and annoyed with myself.

For so long I was tethered to negativity, self-criticism, and anger. The ties have been cut and the contentment and joy I experience deep in my heart is so much richer these days -- this is enough, as it is.

God brought me here and it's Him I give thanks. With each struggle, I am becoming ever stronger.

the heart of humans

Last week many people across America experienced the coldest night of the year. So many of us are all still recovering from being inundated with snow and we're grumbling about February's brutal wind and downright frigid temperatures. I'm one of them.

This is a year unlike most when I am finding myself like so many others, anxious and feeling like I can hardly wait for Spring to arrive.

My seasons have felt all mixed up this past year, at least it felt that way in my heart. Last Summer felt a lot like Winter -- dark and cold-seeming -- and then for a brief moment Fall felt like Spring -- hope blooming and unfurling.

Life has been revived in my heart and through my soul.
Life has been reproduced in my body and through my marriage.

Life is growing inside of me.

My family and I are anxiously await the arrival of with a precious long-awaited and hoped-for miracle of a baby boy. This third somebody in our family is something I was certain would be a part of our story. For years I ached and longed to see that which I believed would be true really come true. Though weariness found its way with me and so when it really was finally upon us, I felt a resistance and a fear that perhaps it was too good to be true.

Before this baby wiggled and tumbled inside of me, I was anxious at the thought of potential unrealized death lurking below the surface. I could barely imagine it swelling and thriving sight unseen. Much is how this literal season of winter feels and so evidence of life is something I've been aching to see. Trees are stripped bare and all evidence of life seems to have its head buried underground or hibernating in a warm place.

My hormones are on overdrive these days and every sense within me feels heightened to the nth degree. As I read in our village newspaper of last week's storm and how our local school district was one of the few area districts not on the scroll of weather alerts, closing and delays, I found myself welling up with tears. My throat had a lump-ish feeling in it and my heart felt like it had doubled in size with awe. I can't blame all my awareness on these crazy hormones, though, for surely something more has caused this.

A relatively new Superintendent for our local district was interviewed and talked about the "careful consideration and planning" involved in making the decision to keep the school open this week when so many of the others were on the list of closings and delays. This new Superintendent talked about how the safety of kids was their top priority and though one could easily make a brash accusation that perhaps the District Office didn't consider this, reading the article opened my eyes to the behind-the-scenes consideration and perspective of these school administrators.

"The School adapted bus routes and made arrangements so that any and all kids that wanted a ride got one," read The Clinton Courier.

Walkers were considered, after all!

The article went on to say, "Messages went out to parents [the previous night], letting families know that bus drivers were instructed to make 'courtesy stops' at houses, so that students could stay indoors until their bus arrived."

And then there was this: "In one case where a student had to go down a long driveway, we drove a smaller bus up and picked him up at his house," said the new (caring!) Superintendent.

Our town is used to snow and cold. Winter has its way with us every year and so it wasn't a surprise that activity was abuzz in town that day in spite of the bitter temperatures. People did what people do, stopping for coffee and just bearing with it.

I ran one of those morning's last week when the weather blew in snow the night before and temperatures were cold, though not the coldest. The Village Department of Public Works crew was busy loading trucks with snow and relocating it. Sidewalks were plowed, street corners were made visible again, and pedestrians were more easily noticed with the snow cleared of buildup.

I pass those workers several times a week throughout the year, whether it be during winter's storm cleanup, or summer's street sweeping and rubbish removal. I wave to them each time I run by and they wave to me. I appreciate the work they do and mostly, I appreciate the camaraderie we share in caring for our Village. Last week when I waved, one of the men in a bulldozer honked at me. I was noticed and felt such love and gratitude well inside my heart.

There are other people I see while I'm out in the early morning, neighbors and faces familiar to me. Though I don't know most of their names, these are my people and I feel safe among them. Our morning routine of smiling, nodding, and waving at each other is a communion of sorts. Our breaking of the dawn together is like the breaking of bread. If I should fall or need an extra hand, I know these Villagers would help me and I would help them if they ever needed help.

This place where I live represents a messy collage of human hearts. The Village of Clinton, New York isn't unlike many other places in this world. We have our small-town issues, sure. But, reading about and seeing in person, how people consider and care for others reminds me that though we can tend to be complicated, competitive, conniving creatures, we are also bold, beautiful, beloved beings.

I didn't used to feel a warm, tenderness for the place I live. I felt wonky and out of place and wanted nothing more than wide open spaces.

Reading in our newspaper of the thoughtfulness and consideration people have for one another and being reminded that though this world can be so cruel, I know that this world can also be genuinely caring, reminds me that there really is something more that has caused this.

Even though it sometimes appears to be dark, still, and quiet, life will eventually unfurl and spring forth with evidence of its existence.

Chase

There was a time when I thought I knew what it means to be "fit" and nowadays I'm embarrassed to even say how I defined it to be:

Ripped abs.
Eight-mile runs.
Sugar-free eating habits.

Those were the days when I was convinced that I was broken and need to be fixed. Everyday involved taking a fine-tooth comb to my very existence and identifying everything that needed to become better about me.

I wasn't enough.

All the ideas I had of who I should be seemed so attainable, yet just far enough out of reach to keep me occupied all the livelong day with trying and trying and trying harder to become who I wasn't.

Restlessness had its way with me. Anger, too. And eventually, exhaustion.

Because, something's gotta give. Always.

It could've been my marriage. And it almost was. The number of times I nearly destroyed it all and threatened to leave are too many to count.

The number of times I quit trying and resorted to saying things that just reflected a cold, bitter, exhausted, lonely, and sad heart are quite possibly equivalent to as many steps as it'd take to climb Mount Kilimanjaro.

: : : 

One day last year my groom said something to me along the lines of how much happier I'd be if I would just stop trying so hard. He encouraged me to be content with me, as I am -- now.

While in a store he even pointed out a small sign that read: "happy girls are the prettiest girls."

Those words, combined with the ones I had heard him say just days before, nearly made me explode in a million different pieces right there in front of him.

Just how is a person supposed to stop trying and start being when all she's known is a pursuit of working harder to be better? 

I felt naked and helpless. And truthfully, quite embarrassed.

My groom had called my bluff. He had known all along how completely miserable I was in my life and he made it known that I hadn't succeeded at hiding my true discontent from him.

Happiness was never something I pursued; I knew it was fleeting. I resigned myself to a lifestyle that gripped everything tightly and assumed that muscles get strong when they're flexed and so therefore, I was "fit".

It turns out that muscles actually get weaker when they're constantly constricted. They forget how to even work. Chronically tightened muscles signal to our body that we're in danger and keeps us in a constant state of defense, eventually exhausting and depleting our whole selves.

This isn't fitness. This isn't even wellness.

I tried to find out "how" I was supposed to fix what was indeed broken about me, only to discover that trying to further control myself was not the way.

I needed to learn flexibility and discover that being vulnerable -- raw and real -- is actually what is means to be strong.

I needed to learn to be patient with myself, and ultimately to be kind to myself.

I needed to actually face the real truth about who I am and not be shocked by my humanity.

I needed to become more aware of the beauty of my life, as it is.

: : : 

Once I reeled back from the realization that my groom knew the deepest truth about me all these years, I realized the most powerful part of the story: he stayed.

My groom was deliberate in his intention to fulfill his commitment to love me, and the best part is that he chose to love me as I am. I didn't need to change in order for him to love me. I didn't need to become someone different.

I still don't.

My groom didn't choose to love me because of a vision I had for myself.

The most powerful thing I realized is that I am loved for being me -- a sometimes messy, hypocritical, talkative, deceiving, angry, conniving, cajoling, questionable . . . and other times gentle, graceful, kind, sensitive, generous, encouraging, creative person.

For so many years I tried to be the best me I could possibly be. Perfection has lots of colors and though I never considered myself a "perfectionist," it eventually became obvious to me that my tendencies clearly fit the definition.

My Creator deliberately crafted me with imperfections and I have come to believe that He uses those rough and jagged edges of me for purpose; most especially, for me to realize that I am enough. My strength and abilities can't accomplish all I want or envision that they might someday; still, I am enough.

It took a long time for me to consider that I am perfect, as I am.

Where I don't measure up, God fills the gap. And what He wants to shape differently about me, He will reveal in due time and work with me to accomplish.

I can trust that God doesn't make mistakes and that He will guide this deliberately-crafted-imperfect-human-being on the journey that He has designed uniquely for me.

: : : 

I've been chased: hunted down and deliberately pursued.

God knew how far He needed to go for me to see His love for me. As I've seen His love, I've learned to chase hope with that same deliberate intention.

I've learned that the thing that I envision might not be the thing at all, yet I can still deliberately pursue that which niggles at me day and night, while actively living in a state of rest.

Now is enough, as it is . . .
     and I am enough, as I am.

For years I connived and cajoled to have a second child. I thought that not conceiving another meant that I wasn't good enough.

I learned the hard and painful way what real surrender is all about.

Eventually, I humbly discovered that what I wanted most was peace -- a life of rest.

I learned to hope when nothing makes sense.

And now, after seven years of begging . . . one year of pretending to surrender . . . and one year of real surrender . . . I've been given a most remarkable gift of grace: the news of a second son to be arriving in the middle of this year.

This gift didn't come because I surrendered and "stopped trying". God did this.

His timing, purpose, and providence is His alone.

The waiting and wrestling was never about a baby . . .
     it's clear to me now that it was about things so much bigger and better.

the hard work of Now

We sometimes try to prepare ourselves for what we think might happen.

We say we're just bracing ourselves for what might be when really we could be just wasting our time. It could be that our suspicions are really just our fears in disguise, pretending to be someone they aren't.

What we think might be or could be, really might not ever or someday be.



We want to avoid hurt when the hard truth is that there will be pain in this life. Something will happen someday that we didn't expect and our current reality will be forever changed. We will feel like our joy was derailed.

There is no way to know for certain what will come around the corner next in our life, and there is no way to prepare for it.

Some have tried all sorts of magical fortune-telling escapades to prepare themselves and though I suppose it's possible, I suspect that knowing the future would dissolve any joy for now. Attention would be so focused on what will be, that what joy there is now would be hard to even notice.

I imagine all sorts of scenarios for my life. As a dreamer, it's hard to turn off the mind and just focus on now. "Be prepared" has been my unspoken motto. I get all antsy when I stay in the now, worried that I'm not considering what might be.

Crafting an imagined scene of my future takes me away from what is. I start to confuse what is really reality and start believing things that aren't certain, and that are therefore lies. It gets frustrating to sort out truth from possibility and inevitably I find myself all mixed up, anxious and angry.

Staying focused on the Now is grueling work. 
It takes strength not to focus on what might be. 

In my own life, as it is, I'm struggling to receive the precious miracle of life that is a baby growing inside of me. I imagine this life ending and it pains me to talk or even think with any expectation that we will one day hold this child alive.

I know that nothing is for certain and I know that life is fragile. It could be that I am being prepared for the inevitable by holding onto this gift loosely. And it could also be that I am trying to protect myself from potential pain that won't ever even be, causing me to miss out on fully receiving the gift that is Now.

It's a push/pull between our minds and our hearts to do the hard work of focusing on Now. Yet, I am committed to not missing out on what is. I don't want to waste today's gift of life, no matter what might or might not be tomorrow.

Let us commit to the hard fight of Now.
Let us live with our hearts splayed open wide, no matter what may be.

Let us refuse to imagine or expect anything beyond what is Now.
Let us accept life, as it is.