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 power of freedom

For so many years I lived anxious and restless, never resting in the present.

One foot in the past, my heart longed to know why certain things happened in my story.

     Why did we lose a child? 
     Why did my father move away to not be a part of my everyday life? 

One foot in the future, my heart longed to know if certain things would happen in my story.

     Will we have another child? 
     Will we ever have a real relationship? 

I wanted to make things be a certain way, yet I struggled to let them be as they were.  

At the beginning of this year, a word was impressed upon my spirit. A two-letter word that I questioned in all it's simplicity.

God is loosing me from all that has bound me from experiencing life, from living in joy and abiding in peace, from experiencing his grace to live, as I am.  

      As.

In preposition form, it's active and present. According to Merriam-Webster, as is:

-- used to indicate how a person or thing appears, is thought of, etc.
-- used to indicate the condition, role, job, etc., of someone or something.

     as. she. is.
     life, as. it. is.

: : : 

I tried to make a lot of things happen in my life.

With enough coercion, maybe I could convince my groom to try for another child . . . 

With enough forgiveness, maybe I could persuade my father to give me more attention . . . 

With enough good, maybe I could keep my groom happy and not frustrated with me . . . 

With enough perfect, maybe I could get people to notice all my heart work . . . 

With enough intensity, maybe I could control the behavior of my child . . . 

With enough effort, perhaps even the response of anyone and the outcome of anything . . . 

I was a selfish brat who did whatever I could to get whatever I wanted, until I couldn't.

I was never "good enough" to make anything happen. And the painful truth is that I never will be.  

I'll never be good enough to measure up to any standard or make any thing happen while I'm this side of Heaven. And when there, it won't matter to me anyway . . . just as it's becoming less and so while I'm here.

Even when I was given eyes to see my father as a broken human being and forgave him for not being as actively engaged in my life as I had wanted him to be, I couldn't create the kind of relationship I wanted.

Even when a temptation would present itself and I was willing to make a choice that wasn't good for me, I couldn't create an opportunity to experience it whenever, or wherever, or however I wanted.

Even when my groom was finally ready to try for another child, I couldn't make myself conceive whenever I wanted.

Somewhere along the way I thought I could do whatever I set my mind to, whenever I wanted. 

I thought I could make things happen; that I could create and contain and control the outcome of anything. And then, through a series of real-life experiences, I realized that I can't control any thing . . . even myself.

     I can't make myself not crave . . .
     I can't make myself not want . . .
     I can't make myself not care . . .
     I can't make myself not whine . . .
     I can't make myself not control . . .

In frustration, I came to a place where I finally said: "I am a mess and I can't fix me . . . so what!" The place where I came to was to His feet, completely and fully and freely as. I. am.

I told God that I was done with all the trying to be someone I wasn't.

I was done with trying to pretend I was Him and live up to some superhero image. Though angry, I accepted that He made me with faults and failings and fears. I was finally willing to face that I am human. Because, I can't change who I am.

But, I didn't know any other way to live. So, I gave up even trying and said:

     "God, You have to do any work in me that you think is necessary . . .

       I can't make myself be someone who I'm not!" 

And in place of the anger, God gave me acceptance.

     . . . for my self
     . . . for my tendencies
     . . . for my faults.

I've been disappointed at people's inability to understand me, to know me, and to affirm me. And so I lived angry for such a long time. I hovered and tucked myself in a corner. With an angry look plastered to my face, I was satisfied at my ability to keep the doors and windows to my heart sealed shut.

But, God . . . is so much bigger than us.

And He'll do whatever it takes to show us.

So, again, through a series of experiences, God showed me that I cannot even keep a lid on my heart.

I began to crave the communion of others -- a real community where rawness is sipped and savored. And in His faithfulness, God weaved me with the lives of others all across the world, people who have become my true friends. I discovered that I am not alone in my aching and my wondering.

And God gave me an overwhelming passion to tell others that they, too, are not alone.

God gave me a vision for a place where all of us travelers in the journey of life can lodge together without much cost, a hostel of sorts whereby we commune together, sipping and savoring life, as it is -- simply and freely, as we are. A place where brokenness is shared and raw, real life is experienced in abundant joy. 

I dream of opening the doors to an on line hostel called: C'est La Vie: The Magazine. A name quite literally meaning: Life, as. it. is.

The journey of even getting to this vision was long, even claiming it as a dream specifically created for me to receive and be a part of.

: : : 

For so many years I wanted a vacation-like life.

I wanted happy-clappy . . . sand between my toes (just not in other places thankyouverymuch) . . . a gentle breeze from the south with no humidity . . . and French-blue colored sky.

Basically, I wanted perfection. All the livelong day.

As I journeyed through my own story, I learned that vacation and perfect isn't real life. Trying to create a life like that is exhausting, depleting the heart of what life is all about. 

It literally took a recent awareness that I am at risk of a heart attack for me to realize that running and working out and being physically strong doesn't equate wellness, and that strong muscles can actually become weak by constantly contracting. In order to live, I had to rest.

The truth is, I spent what I was given. I gave away my heart and my hope with the expectation that I'd exchange it for happiness and certainty. And when I wasn't entirely understood or challenged for my view, I'd slam the doors and windows shut and hide myself from the world.

I was created to be an influential person and I took advantage of my gift. I can change the setting of any environment and I used it to blame others, positioning myself as the victim and giving myself rights I didn't deserve.

I wanted so much that wasn't mine for the taking, at least not for a time. 
I was an angry person for so long who resented everyone, including my own very life.

In all my wanting . . . .

     a different house . . .
     a different family . . .
     a different job . . .
     a different life . . .

I realized that my groom stayed.

Even though he could have left and wouldn't have been to blame if he did.

My groom stayed wedded to my heart and to our home.
And his staying spoke deep into my soul that I am loved, as. I. am. 

     . . . even with all my curves and all my edges.

I realized that my groom looks at me with a kind of love that accepts . . .

     even though I'd lusted for things that weren't a part of our real life . . .
     even though I hurt him time and time again . . .
     even though I made promises and broke them over and over again . . .

I realized that kind of love is Real, God-created and gifted love.

God showed me that I am welcome at here, even though I am sometimes a terrible, horrible, not so good person. I realized that I can be me, completely and wholly as I am. This is the greatest gift. This is freedom. This is love. 

God invited me to choose life. One that is free to live by faith.

Because of how I'd seen Him show up in my life time and time again . . .
Because of how I could see and understand love in a way I never had before . . .

     I was able to believe that I am purposed and I have a place here, as I am.

Because of the ways I could see I am beloved . . .

     I was able to choose to trust Him . . .
     I was able to stay in my marriage . . .
     I was able to pursue hope . . .

          even though I won't ever be good enough . . .
          even though I won't ever be certain my dreams will be realized . . .

God created me to be His Rock, a solid believer whose thoughts and perspective aren't shifty, based on symptoms or conditions. And He's helping me to live this.

He's changing me from being a raging lunatic to radical lover of people.
He's changing my muscle memory from clenching in fear to resting in trust.

As God looses my grip and I turn my back on the try-hard, rigid, angry, fear-based life that is really more like dying a little bit more with each passing day, I'm choosing grace that focuses on life . . . the Eternal kind.  

When I sit back and examine the first 34 years of my life, I see only a mere spattering of joy across the canvas, not huge sweeps of it.

I want to spend the rest of my life, however long that may be, on joy 
     . . . not jealously or justification.

: : : 

God looses us from all that binds. Though the journey may look long and we may wander off the beaten trail, we're never lost.

He knows just how far we'll go and lets us go as far as we need to in order for us to cry out for His rescue. And He always appears in just the ways we need Him.

As I've journeyed, God has taught me that I cannot make things be and that there is rest to be found when I embrace life, as. it. is.

I am free. 

     I can live.
     I can trust.
     I can hope.
     I can rest.
     I can be.

I'm not quite ready for the fullness of community, or the fullness of family that I hope for in the dreams God has impressed upon my heart.

I'm still recovering from the rigidity that I called life.
I'm still getting to know the life He's called me right now.

But, God is readying me for all that I hope for, every moment by blessed moment. I trust in His perfect timing.

I recently said to my groom that I feel like the seasons are all mixed up for me. He nodded his head as if he understood and that one moment warmed my heart, just as these words do for me:

There's planting and reaping and harvesting, and there's the practice of letting the field lay fallow for awhile, allowing it to prepare again to produce. For the first time in a long time, I'm practicing silence, laying fallow, trusting that the world will keep spinning quite happily without quite so many words from me." (Shauna Niequist)  

So even though the calendar says it's summer and my spirit feels like I've been stuck in winter, I'm patiently waiting as I hold my cup.

I'm letting my favorite person love me, and I'm letting other people love me, too.

I'm exhaling after holding my breath for so long.

I'm accepting me more and more, as I am
     . . . and our simple life, as it is.

I'm living free -- as me -- and this is my offering, this is my worship.

Linking with Jennifer and Bonnie.

on deciding not to be a Christian

I had a conversation with a young man last week that left me feeling a bit queasy.

His question made me contemplate labels and definitions, and quite frankly led me to reconsider what it is I truly believe.

So many of my opinions have been shaded by the shadows of others; people who I subscribe to as experts, or who I think have more moxie than me. Practically everyone has fallen into this category for me, to be honest. I've wanted my self to become imaginary, picking up pixie dust and sprinkling it over my head. If I could choose any superpower I have said I want to be invisible because being me has simply seemed too scary.

Learning is something I've done with great passion and attentiveness. Not math learning or history from books, but the kind that would make me wise and better than I am. Improving myself was for so long a constant preoccupation and quite frankly, a sickly obsession. I have a close friend who says I know myself better than anyone she knows. Her comment is no longer something I am proud of, as it wreaks with such a putrid stench of self idolization.

I felt like I was dying a long, slow, gruesome death that leaves holes in the chest. 

A gutting out was the way I described it. Shame came hot and heavy and my eyes burned at the sight while my nostrils flared, overwhelmed by what I tried to portray as good when the truth was hidden deep within me. Pride is downright disgusting and too unbearable to face.

Slowly, I began to discover what love is and how it has absolutely nothing to do with what I do.

I could abort, abandon, and have an affair. Or, I could atone, accept, and be all there. Regardless, no choice would be too far or too short from His grip and truly, no-conditions kind of love. I believe this because I've chosen some of this and amazingly I've lived to tell the story.

And here is where the power of grace lies.

     Truth that miracles really do exist . . .
          Proof points, because I'm not that good at making things up.

I can't always pull out of the Bible and find where it talks about this or that kind of issue. And when I can, it doesn't mean that I can theologically explain its connection or relevance. I live a lot by what some may say is feeling or intuition, while to me it's really more like a leading. I have chosen to recognize the stirring and tugging I sense within me as Holy. I believe God took up residence within me from the moment He chose to make me. This is my choice, to believe; a choice that simply and profoundly wrecks me every. single. day.

My life is full of pain as I slowly learn to loose control and grow in my capacity to trust The Maker of me and all of this blessed world. Because, my comfort is often what I want more than doing the thing that I know is most right.

My life is admittedly a lot of the time all about me.

When I chose this kind of life, to say less of me, more of you, and uttered the dangerous words: Any. Thing., I had no idea what kind of crazy I was speaking and what the translation of that seemingly understandable and simple language really means. I had no idea that every single thing about my life would be tipped upside down, and over, and inside out, and spun around and around again.

I came crashing to the floor, smashing both my mouth and my face while I bled from the inside out all over the place. 

I still have lots of bruises hidden underneath the surface of the pretty my life sometimes makes. What might appear as easy or intense is so much more than anyone could ever possibly guess.

When people pray prayers like change me and heal me, they need to be prepared for what it really might entail. Because it isn't so much the circumstance He wants to fix, it's radical sight He wants to bless us with as He changes us.

And in seeing, we can never go back. We're for. ever. changed.

There is a tremendous a price for this. Habits that were familiar become a challenge to break, friends are sometimes hard to keep, and what was once a good choice suddenly becomes a throw-out-the-window type of thing, for the wholeness and health of our self. What was comfortable becomes clunky as we learn what it means to truly live.

I've found peace that comes when I do the very thing that niggles at me and makes me on edge; when I finger point the ache in my shoulder right where it hurts and stab it to speak of why it feels this way. Confession oozes out in the poking and prodding and miraculously, ribbons of healing cascade down and around through the cavernous places of my soul.

It sounds anything but what Holy-like pictures have painted glory to be. 

All this dying is something I thought was done and over, yet here I am facing it myself and I think: didn't someone else already to that for me? are you serious about this?!

The joy that comes in the new of my sight is overwhelming. I even thought it to be too much and said: what am I supposed to do now, and with this?

     Be still, the prompting told my soul.

          Eat this moment, as it is.
          And then come here, into this moment. 
          See my glory. And don't leave.
          Rest. Eat. 
          And then, GO.

So I took and I ate. And I gave thanks. And there I saw . . . beauty splashed across the dark.

I decided that there is no where else I'd rather be than here, in this place where all Glory be.

There isn't a definition that works for me to describe how my life is, other than to say I've been transformed and I've been given sight to See.

I challenge anyone to take the leap.
     Decide to live for Him and See.

The description of being a Christian is too complicated and confusing for most. It raises more questions than provides answers, and that makes me sad.

In thinking about the journey that brought me to where I am, it's more personal than any brand or name. It's a pull-up-the-chair-and-lets-talk-over-tea kind of thing. Be prepared for me to share all the juicy details and let me warn you, I won't be in the least bit brief.

I'm learning to accept me -- as. I. am. -- and truly, that's no small thing.

I ache with an impatient restlessness for big visions that make no sense for today. They seem ridiculous to say the least. Foolish and perhaps even a waste. Yet, I can't shake them and I can't explain them away; they simply are -- as. they. are. -- and I've found that to even try to denounce them makes me sicker than sick.

So when a college kid tells me all matter of factly that he's gay, and he's obviously troubled at accusations that he won't go to Heaven, and he asks me what I believe . . . next time, I'm just going to say: Grace. The kind that loves us, as. we. are. 

And then I'm going to invite him to pull up a chair, and sit awhile, and maybe, just maybe he'll encounter the One who made Him, as I share with him these very Real and humbling truths:

     Love bowled me over . . . wrecked my every being. 

     And, I sin just like anyone sins. 
          What I do isn't any bigger or less than anything you do, 
               and I'm certainly not any better than you.
   
     I make myself sick at the habits that I can't seem to break 
          . . . and I have only a glimpse at my piousness and hypocrisy. 
     
     Your struggle is your struggle, yet you resemble so much of myself and my struggles. 

And then I'll sit back and listen. I'll hear the flow of the blood in the beat of a human heart.

I'm not saying I'm a Christian again.

and this is my worship.

Linking with Jennifer, Nacole, and Emily.

a dare

I hadn't considered sports when I was growing up. 

I don't know if it was that I just didn't pay attention . . . that maybe I was so focused on my Barbie's and baby dolls . . . or maybe I just didn't consider that I could. 

Sports weren't something I naturally fell into as a kid. In fact, they were something completely distinct from my world. 

So when I was in college and discovered that I could play ice hockey if I wanted to, I let the question twirl in my hand a little as I began to consider the opportunity and of playing. 

And then I said yes. 

When I put the equipment on and stepped out on the ice, I found a strength I hadn't ever known was there. 

And I liked it. 

I know what playing hockey did for me. And running miles upon miles, too. I learned about setting goals and how hard work pays off. I accomplished things that I saw not everyone else did. 

I know what working hard to be physically fit did and does to my self-confidence and way of life, how I have the energy to be creative and productive. 

I know what being active has done to my life, how it translates to the board room and how I've experienced a successful career because of the strength I discovered through my own body's active movement. 

I know the weight of the responsibility and the careful tight-rope-walk of being humbled, how worldly success showed me of the fall and how God gives me strength to stand tall.  

I renamed magenta. Yep, it's now Strong-Girl Pink, because it envelopes more of other colors, making it more than what it is. 

This is officially my favorite color, especially next to black, because of how it stands: strong and noticeable. 

I feel called to this color like I feel called to life. 

This is my call, so hear me roar: let's all just Be. 

Let's not hide, let's not shirk. Let's unabashedly and unapologetically Be. As we are.

Let's dare to consider that this is our worship. 

Let's dare to consider that this is how we love the very One who created us, specifically with the unique interests and talents and strengths that we possess. 

Let's dare to honor Him with our reckless pursuit, as messy and chaotic and crazy as we might be.

Let's live our whole, {Real} selves out free.

 

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on letting go [raw and unedited]

this is the one that's hardest to write.

the one where i fear i'll talk in circles or vagueries and where i might sound just so over the top. you'll call me a type a and we'll both joke and inside i'll be wounded by this. because, being classified as a type doesn't fix how i feel, or my tendencies, or what struggles i face: struggles that i know we all face but so many of us are so damned afraid to admit it.

we all are a bit intense and we all have a tendency of over thinking Every. Thing. sometimes.

so here i am, faced with having declared that i feel compelled to do something and calling it God-sized and now it feels like my life just took a complete 180. the very thing i surrendered to -- painfully and excruciatingly -- is now suddenly a very real possibility. God is funny like that.

if i've learned anything in my life it's not to plan. yet, there are still tendencies that i have to plan. compulsively plan. it's become a joke in my family and when i'm not planning i'm looking the complete opposite way and appearing in la-la land: mrs. can't commit.

part of my non-committal might be fear.
part of the excruciating part of surrender might be fear and pride.
part of my craziness might be . . . fear, pride, and well, a little bit of crazy.

when i have my hands all over my life it's like trying to butter a wet turkey, or cut a round melon. every thing feels like it just flops and drops all over the place.

i become a slave to control -- the attempt to keep every thing just so, just right, and just the way i want it. it's exhausting.

i want to experience freedom even more than i have ever experienced it before. i want to let go. and the only way is to commit -- my marriage, my parenting, my husband, my children, my friends and friendships, my writing, my work, my body, my fertility, my future, my very life -- all to Him.

i needn't worry or be anxious about any thing. i can give thanks, because he works all things for me. he truly does. i can believe this.

he loves me so much that he allowed my crazy to happen -- for me to whirl and twirl in exhaustion -- so that i'd fall to my knees in surrender.

so i'm letting go. one more finger is pried open. and one more is better than none.

Amen.

: : : 

I wrote this post on a Friday afternoon. It's my truest reflection of what was percolating in my heart. And it was after a conversation with a dear friend who speaks truth and helps me to See the One who matters most. These words are unedited and a bit whimsy, yet I completely trust that they are necessary. My prayer is for you to See Him, too. Rich blessings . . . 

Share your heart . . . add a comment below.

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Let that dream of yours come undone.

     Cascade.

          Spiral down with all her radiant colors.

Let her unfurl.

You've held her with all your might.

Gathered her tight, boxed her up and tucked her away.

Reality made her seem child-like. Too silly. Too irresponsible.

Smudges of your art stayed on your hand. 

     And shame named it a stain.

You're realizing her beauty.

     To be adored. Not a stain to be scorned. 

Let her be your true *Craft.*

Grasp that dream and let Him make you whole.

Today's post was part of my friend, Lisa-Jo's fun challenge each Friday to 

     "Write for five, short, bold beautiful minutes... 

     Unscripted and unedited...

     Without worrying if it's just right or not."

...where, community comes together and shares how He used their five minutes on the same topic. 

It's neat stuff and most especially, such evidence of our uniqueness and His awesomeness. 

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