Tuesday thoughts

Yesterday morning I received an email from my mother titled "Tuesday thoughts" and I found it particularly beautiful for reasons I cannot describe. Remarkable things have happened in our relationship and I believe this is only the beginning. My hope is that you'll see what I mean in due time. 

For now, I pray you might find yourself saying I belong here, as. it. is. 

So, this morning, earlier than usual for me, I walked and jogged, jogged and walked. It wasn't pretty. 

Forget the pain in the shins, forget the clumsy gait, forget that I forgot about crowns and gravel. 

What made me bend my elbows, lengthen my stride and exercise my lungs? 
Couldn't say.

Will it happen again? 
Couldn't say. 

Does it matter? 
Nope. 

But enough about my exercise experience. I found myself enjoying my town. 

The bus drivers waved, the town workers waved, the little girl walking to school alone said "hi". For many years my legs took me through the village. I peeked in shop windows, I hollered at inconsiderate drivers, I smelled the lilacs, I watched crossing guards keep children safe and I never gave it a thought.

This is my town. I belong here. 

It doesn't matter if the bus driver of bus #45 remembers me as the woman greeting my grandson off the bus on Old Kirkland Ave. The town and village workers don't care if I run or walk, they are keeping my town tidy. The little girl walking to school trusted enough to return my "hi".

I've lived here longer than I've lived anywhere else. I don't know a lot of people (I like it like that). I'm not a member of any club or organization but I belong here. It may sound funny to you, but I finally feel at home. 

I'm not a transplant, I belong here. 

I'm not just someone's mother, someone's wife or someone's daughter in-law.  

This is my town, where I've rooted, gotten a library card, started my running years, raised my family and waved to strangers. I walked to Agway yesterday to buy pumpkins seeds and the proprietors didn't care that my bills were sweaty from my walk.

I belong here. 

Linked with Emily.

our shameless needing

Father, we come.

having been chosen by You for such a time as this.

all of the circumstances we face are of Your allowing.

help us not to compartmentalize our lives.

steer us to see how You are in every part of our present situations.

may we not say blah, blah, blah to the people who faithfully remind us of You.

convict us and discipline us to confess our pride and chosen defense mechanisms.

slow us to see You. 

help us to lay down our burdens at Your feet.

remind us that we are Yours, specifically chosen and unequivocally loved.

we are not defined by our areas of weakness.

and there is no shame in needing You.

for actually, it is Your grace that shows us our need for You.

humble us. break us. renew us.

less of us, Father.

more of You in us and through us.

awaken our senses to Your Spirit who guides us.

and where because our feelings fail to fill us, may Your Truth be the Bread that sustains us.

may we fall into Your arms of grace today, letting You heal and change us and our habits.

according to Your will for each of us, amen.

Linking with Emily today.

#imperfectprose

we're wanted

Father, we come.

wanting to play and yet with so much to do.

we hope someone else will occupy and entertain, someone who is more fun than us.

we hear the words, "will you play with me?", and we so want to

     . . . yet, there's all the things! 

     and . . . "just one more thing . . . one more minute . . . "

the relief came when his daddy came walking in the room and said he'd play.

we even sighed at the feeling of being rescued.

it's hard to confess our gratitude for this rescue.

we're being asked for, though.

we are wanted. 

     as. we are. 

slow us to see his eyes that long for us.

slow us to listen to hear his voice say our name.

slow us to feel his tug for us.

make less of our many things.

less distractions.

less us.

we are wanted and we have made them wait too long for us.

it is us who they want, not just him or something else to do to fill the time.

it's us.

it's time that we take our wanted place.

so, might we set down the dish towel and the spoon that stirs.

might we put a pin in all the things and pick up the video controller, even just once.

we're being asked for and we know it.

we're wanted, even with all there is to do.

doing less and being with them is kind of a big deal. remind us today.

and might our saying "Yes!" be our offering to you.

might we feed and clothe them with the love you give through our very being here.

loose us to fast our comfort of control and order.

niggle within us a wanting to be with them.

thank you for provoking us and prompting us to notice their want of us today.

amen.

linking with Jennifer and Emily. 

feed and clothe

Father, we come . . .

we come with hearts that seek to worship and honor You.

yet, we do not know what that will require of us.

our souls cry out to detach from our everyday itchiness for control.

our spirits long to dance with you in the Holiest of grace.

yet, we are human, and we are frail.

You, alone, make us whole and worth living among the others who have breath.

purpose-filled You make us. You, alone.

we mess up and muck up. still, You say we matter. 

so we humbly come.

we don't know what it will mean or where we will go.

still, we come.

we are all hungry and we all are naked. 

remind us we matter no more or less than another.

in our famished state we pine for something to fill us.

and in our nakedness we claw our way to comfort.

needy, we are.

only you can sustain us.

teach us what it means to feed and to clothe your beloved ones.

give us your grace to share our fill of you with others.

help us not to keep you to ourselves.

bubble up and over us so that we can't help but pour into the cups of others.

less of us, Father . . . more, so much more of you.

clothe them by our encouraging ways, by you being reflected through our caring and life-giving hearts.

may our hearts desire to worship you be fulfilled in us.

in Jesus' name, may your will be done in us.

Linking with Jennifer and Emily.

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 new kind of vow: As. We. Are.

I think we should come to the altar naked.

     No more of this beautiful white gown and glorified-perfect stuff.

Seriously, I think we should come naked: as. we. are.

     Messy. Dirty. Bruised.

     Self-mutilated. Self-shamed.

     Holey and drained.

     Ashamed and afraid.

     Angry. And even amazed.

Our vows should be of a different kind.

     Aware that we will surely swerve and sway and make mistakes.

So I'm proposing a new kind of vow.

     To our groom (or our bride), as much as to our littles, and each other.

A daily vow as much as a life vow.

: : : 

to my groom . . . my son . . . my self . . . and even my God,

my loving you today is a choice, and you need to know this:

     i will get angry even after i say that i won't.

     i will surely hurt you.

     i will be unlikeable a lot of the times.

     i will abuse and adulterate what we've got.

     i will put me first.

     i will have unfair expectations of you.

     i will be impatient, and impish.

     i will abandon my umph and stickwithitness.

     i will want to run.

     i will try to hide.

     i will want comfort more than i will want the hard work.

     i will make so much about me.

     i will want what i want over what i know is what's best.

     i will get everything so tangled and twisted, just as i will be.

     i will complain of not having what i want.

     i will pine for better days.

     i will come into my days scared and scarred.

     i will not promise that i'll always love with a generous and committed heart.

     i will, though, guarantee one thing: i'll always be human.

          i will live the definition of messed up, tripped up, effed up.

          i will be me. 

     i will boldly and brashly bring my whole self to the table, at least some days: real and raw.

     i will reflect my need for undeserving grace, unconditional love. true redemption.

     if that's what you're willing to want, then let's do this thing . . . this life . . . this day.

this is our worship. 

Linking with Jennifer.

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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Stepping into Real life

Silk is soft and smooth, hand-pressed shirts crisp and wrinkle-free.

I remember the iron out every evening, the next day's clothes thoughtfully selected and prepared.

Practically everything in the house was an ornate antique of the Victorian era. It was a homestead handed down through generations. The walls reflected beauty and strength inside a brick facade that masked obligation.

I connect with the strong of the brick and the hot steam of the iron that hand-presses the wrinkles out.

Raised as a good girl, I followed the house rules: be polite . . . behave. I was seen and not heard. I didn't run in the house to keep the walls quiet and the precious dishes from rattling. I knew what it took to make my parents happy with me. And so when I found myself pregnant 11 days before my 18th birthday I had one thought: This wasn't supposed to happen to me.

Seated at the kitchen table with a heart full of heavy, my face would give way to the burden I carried. I was expected to find a way to iron it out smooth and I couldn't find the right starch to get the wrinkles out. I couldn't solve this problem, I didn't have a plan. A solution was presented to me and there would be no discussion. Though I stuttered and stammered in disgust, I wasn't courageous enough to choose life.

It was the threat of disconnection that weakened my strength. And the overwhelming concern for what my parents thought of me. I needed them and so the thought of losing them because of a choice I preferred not make was suffocating. I finally surrendered to what appeared as better for me when every bit of me raged with a knowing it surely wasn't right.

I made an appointment for the day after my 18th birthday, to get it done and over with and to make home life happy. This was never to be spoken about and having it taken care of outside of our town would all be to "protect" me; from what exactly I'm not sure, though I suppose perhaps the thought was shame.

I'd cry in my room for weeks, learning how to iron a regret smooth and tuck it away. It took awhile for me to learn how to fold that secret up tight. I'd try and wrestle it to the ground until eventually I ran out of fight. Ultimately, it would be shame that would find me and haunt me and scavenge my very life.

Always have a plan. That's what that moment in my story taught me. Because if I don't, someone else might have one for me. So I spent my days incessantly focused on the calendar, make-believing that planning creates a life. Shame was heavy and led me to a perfection-seeking way of life: always doing what I should, literally sucking what life remained in me right out of me.

Chasing a fabricated life would ultimately become so incredibly and overwhelmingly exhausting. Real would tug at my shirt sleeve and grab a hold of my leg. I'd feel itchy and get all squirmy as Grace whispered in my ear:

     It isn't natural to be all tight-lipped and wrinkle-free. Just Be.

I literally ached to get out of the straight-laced, buttoned-up, suffocated habit of a life that I'd created.

Today marks 16 years since that life inside of me was ended, the day after the one that marks when my very own began nearly three and a half decades ago. I think of how I have feared mistake-making all these years, how I've endlessly planned, ironed my days lifeless.

My story isn't pretty bow-tied -- I'm still in process. But I'm learning to appreciate the messy . . . the wrinkles . . . and to hold my plans loosely. I am learning to trust that every bit of my story has purpose, as I begin to unfold and let me Be. And, be flawed.

I'm learning to step into {Real} . . . into life.

And that this is my worship.

 

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less of us and more of you :: a marriage prayer

Father, God . . .

Might I surrender my hurt, nail it to the cross, and choose {love}.

Might I decide that the pain that accompanies relationship is worth enduring.

Might I let you fill our gaps.

Might I trust that you will work through our weakness.

Might I seek you in this complicated place of companionship.

Might I find enough in you, Father, and . . .

Might I pursue you in this place, without abandonment, no matter the cost to Me.

Might this be your will and your glory be.

Amen.

A dare for whoever to rethink perfection

I ache to be whole.

As if there is an expectation that I should be more than and even sometimes less than, I long to feel less disjointed and more put together. As though I have broken parts or too many parts.

It feels naked-like to be this way -- messy and just not as I'm supposed to be. Pieces of me are in places where I think they don't belong.

But, according to who am I not right the way I should be?

Whoever said I am not perfect? 

Because, I am right the way I was created to be, truly . . .

     the perfect mother for my son.
     the perfect wife for my husband.
     the perfect employee for the position.
     the perfect friend for the situation.

Chosen for these stories. Casted before there was ever an audition. Showing up messy, stuttering, or not knowing my lines to my parts, or the moves to my roles doesn't disqualify me for the parts. Every day isn't an audition, it's simply a rehearsal.

Perfection isn't what we think it is.

We chase after getting everything just the way we think it should be, and we spend all our energy trying to live up to expectations we imagine of others or ourselves. This is what we define perfection to be when really, it's not about this at all.

Perfection is when something is whole. Full. To be all of itself.

When we bring our whole selves to the story, there is nourishment for our soul.
When we don't hold back on who we are and we are wholly us, His glory is.

All I mostly ever do is hide. Cower in a cave. Cover my face out of shame -- for being me, so less than I think I should be.

Nearly everyday I remark about the awesomeness of the sky. I watch the sun rise and set and get giddy over the radiant strokes of beauty as I consider His power and majesty. I reserve awesome for the big stuff. Lately, He has been speaking to me that I am, too.

Shame tells me that I can't be awesome. I make mistakes. I flub it up. I . . . I . . . I . . .

Again and again He tells me that I am Awesome. Just as I am. 

My mistakes don't make me less than.

He uses every single choice I make as a way to draw me to Him.

Free to choose, He backs me up with a covering -- a hedge of protection. He fills the gap between my selfish ambition and His glory be. He cleans up my messes before they really become messes. There is no true failure.

Grace is a gift, not something to be earned. 
And I can never make the gift stop coming. 

I usually want to run away when it gets hard. Give up on trying. Because the journey is painful most of the time and I get tired, weary of the hurting. I get discouraged that happy isn't something I feel or see more often. Yet, I am so blissfully unaware of true pain because there is joy down deep. I see the goodness in the pain, how it brings me to Him.

     I notice the strength that surfaces when I didn't imagine I'd have any.
     I notice the peace that comes when fear was so hot and heavy.
     I notice the beauty rise up out of really ugly situations and experiences.
     I notice the Creator of all and wonder how anyone could ever really question His existence.

When I bring my whole self into my story, I am giving back what is truly His in the first place. 

This is my tithe, what He deserves: when I just Be.

When I am fully me and don't hold back bits and pieces of me out of shame for being less than, I reflect trust in Him -- that He really does know what He's doing and that he really does purpose whoever and everything.

My trust can't be reflected until I take the step to just be. 
I first need to step -- I first need to Be.

The ache in me to be whole is my unsettled soul as it's held back. It will always remain inside of me until I just let me be Me. Wholly and fully Me -- perfectly Me.

He doesn't want my offering until I first give Him what He deserves, my Self as my tithe. 

Until I give Him my tithe can I really give Him my offering -- my trust for Anything -- especially my control and my need to be my own savior. And all this is a blessing turned back around for me, a gift of His design.

When I step out of the cave I've nestled myself into, and tried to slumber deep within to numb the pain of life away -- when I stand wholly Me -- there His glory be. I don't have to bring anything else or be any other way, He just is when I am as I am.

Whoever lives has an ache to be awesome. And we are this when we are wholly ourselves, not shirking back out of fear or shame.

So . . . Be.

You already are Awesome . . . so just Be.

And let your living be your true worship.

It's not about the character

So the other day while on a morning run I considered these words that were swirling around in my mind:

"It's not about the . . . "

Several thoughts surrounded the water of my heart where I often come with a wrestling.

The potential job . . .

The current job . . .

The size of our family . . .

The book . . .

I walked into the water and reached in deep, retrieving sand washed stones.

. . . The fears . . .

. . . The opinions of others . . .

. . . The risk . . .

. . . The potential flop . . .

. . . The experience and the lack thereof . . .

Ever deeper I walked and reached for more.

. . . The surrender . . .

. . . The character . . .

I marveled at all of this and considered how they are indeed stones in my life. Hard and firm these thoughts encompass my days. I've built a moat around them, anxiously spent my time focused on them.

And these that have been the beneficiary of my attention are indeed what keeps me ever anxious of the impending tumble. I layer these stones, one on top of another, and all the while I remain unsettled because I can't hold them up and all together.

Stones can't be controlled. They can get swept up in a flood current or shaken by a storm. 

Every day is like a fault line beneath my feet and I never know when life will suddenly quake. I worry I won't have the stones all together, or that they all will come crashing down.

One stone stands out to me: Character. I consider how I focus so much time and attention here -- on mindfully trying to craft and create mine, and even The Boy-Man's. I say we're in the character-building business. And though these words have some semblance of truth, the lens through which I look suddenly appears different.

Then I consider another: Surrender. I've tried and tried, and tried some more. With so much focus on surrender I realize that I'm actually doing the very opposite. I want to know what it looks like and so I analyze and contemplate when really it's very simple -- it's a letting go, a turning away from, a shifting of attention.

I've been so wrapped up in this creating and crafting and controlling of every thing in my life for fear of every possible outcome. And really . . .

     It's the process that matters most.

I hear this and say this and truthfully, so much of me believes it. But you only know what you know and suddenly my perspective is widened.

Character isn't my job. It's His. He is doing the character work. He is making all things come together.

And surrender begins with a choice. A willingness. He will show me the way as I simply shift my gaze on Him.

I want to gather these stones up and build an altar with them . . . instead of seeing them as problems to be solved, accomplishments and success to achieve -- a wall to be built and admired.

I want to gather them up. Bend low and scoop up every one.

I want to trust He will give me eyes to see the ones hidden and tucked in the weeds.

It's all about Him. I'm really starting to get it now.

Share your heart . . . add a comment below.

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learning to trust even when it doesn't make sense

I think Mary wrestled, too