The power of one teeny, tiny word

On this Christmas Eve I am reflecting on the life I have and how I almost missed it and quite nearly lost it.

For so long I focused on being better than I was. "Grow" was on my daily task list, though it needn't actually have been written. It was a priority for me to improve myself, assuming that staying as I was would be irresponsible and a waste of time.

When I wasn't fixated on me, I was trying so hard to help others become better versions of themselves. I could see the cracks and holes in everyone around me. Like a mason, I assumed that I would not be fulfilling my obligation if I didn't do what I could to patch everyone up.

Contentment was something I'd never allowed because I didn't believe we should ever accept the imperfect.

Stress was a constant feeling that I experienced. There was always work to be done, either in me or in others. Rest was something I assumed to be reckless and wrong.

Innately, I believed strong was the mighty warrior who never gave up; the one who stayed in the ring and fought to the very end. Strong was getting better at holding up the weight, and seeing the ripples of muscles was evidence I would be ready for a storm. I feared my grit and guts would be overlooked during the quieter moments of life so I perched and flexed myself to be noticed, poised for battle.

I couldn't relax.
I couldn't even smile.

"Be ready", and "Trust no one" were the two mantras I lived by deep inside. I needed to be ready because I knew life is imperfect and each day is a battle.

Anger became my constant way of being.

I was mad at myself when I couldn't do what I knew needed to be done.
I was mad at everyone else when they didn't do what I was certain they should do.
I was mad at things and situations when they failed to meet my expectations.

Blowing up, lashing out, and distancing myself were my go-to tendencies when I didn't know what else to do. I wasn't ever "good enough" to make things become the way I believed they should be, whether it was people or possessions or even what I sensed was unseen and hidden potential.

I was disengaged with the beauty of life, devouring every moment as a battle for love. The possibilities of what I could become was what I thought was lovable about me -- not who I simply was, but who should be. I thought people had a far-off view of who I was supposed to be, yet never knowing for certain what they saw.

Exhaustion eventually had its way with me. I couldn't keep up with even my own expectations and exclamations. I began to consider the life I had around me in spite of all the attempts I made at giving it all up because I just couldn't get myself to be good enough. The hardness that had become of my heart began to crack as I noticed beauty in places where I thought there were only broken pieces.

Practically a dead girl walking, I was barely able to feel anything, much less even see love that surrounded me. I made myself the victim and whined at how "he", and "she", and "that moment", were the reasons for my distress. I neglected to consider the beauty that I could behold from the weaving of all moments without trying to better situations or become someone different.

Seeing the unraveling of beauty out of broken situations was an amazing sight. It became addictive to uncover it hidden deep within the darkest places. Gratitude for gritty, gunky moments welled up within me and though I felt silly and a bit crazy, I discovered joy and peace in a way that a "try hard life" never gave me.

Deep inside, though, I was scared to accept these gifts that came of all that was loosed within me when I knew that nothing lasts forever. I wanted to be prepared for the inevitable and the proverbial bottom falling out. I tried to guard and protect my heart from hurt, bracing myself with a strength that I thought was necessary and that would negate the power of any blow. Flat-lined was how I started to become, until I discovered that even that isn't living.

I considered that I could be wrong about what I imagined myself, and others, and life might someday become. In one seemingly random moment I decided that what I wanted most was to jump right off the train that I had let get out of control and simply sit on a bench, spending the time I've been given scouting for beauty and letting myself feel deep, abiding joy. Even in the midst of all that I sensed was wrong and broken, I discovered that I was strong for accepting what is, not for trying to make what isn't.

I considered the condition of things, as they were.

As. This teeny, tiny word tickled my heart and whispered into my soul. And soon, perfection started to loose in me; it wasn't my attempts that did it, and I haven't arrived at a place where I don't try for it. Still, in place of my daily grind for perfect, I discovered a contentment for me, for others, for life -- as. it. is.

God has done in me what I could not. In seeing all that He's done, I have decided that I can trust that He will do whatever else in me that He sees as necessary. I can trust that I am loved in such a way that I can rest.

I am now convinced that there is no greater way I can worship my Creator than simply by being -- as. I. am.

on learning to accept fear (Part 2: responding to a mother's worry)

My mother texted me the other day to express how "sad" it is about Robin Williams. I agreed and commented how mental illness is definitely very real.

She then said: "Promise me never to do that."

And I couldn't reply.

Sometimes the truth is too scary to face, so I hide.

I was afraid of my mother's fear so I chose not to respond to her request that I make such a big promise to her. Mostly I was afraid for her because sometimes the truth can feel like too much. I wanted to protect my mom from worry.

I've been paying more attention to fear these days.

I've been noticing that like children, fear just wants to be noticed. Even though fears can't just get what they want and don't have the right to push me around, I'm letting them be heard. I'm asking questions and trying to learn from them, even though rationalizing with or talking down fear doesn't always work.

Like the white hair, and wrinkles, and aches and pains that have been slowly making me notice that in spite of my feelings, I'm not 25 anymore . . . fear reminds me that I'm human.

I'm learning that I can rest when I simply accept fear as a part of life, kind of like germs that I can't just perfectly cleanse away. I make a choice to accept the risk that I might get sick and live.

No matter what we do, fear isn't something that we can make go away.

Fear isn't something to feel shame about -- neither that we have fear, or that we struggle to control it.

I hope that in time I'll become better at thoughtfully responding to fear instead of impulsively reacting to it and that my body will be strong enough for it the next time it invades me. For now, I'm learning to be honest that this conditioning takes a lot out of me.

I feel like a person who is just beginning a new fitness routine and is tempted to give up from feeling more exhausted because of the workouts. I'm learning to be gentle and patient and kind with myself as I develop the strength to stand strong in the midst of fear that is a part of life. Like wind, I can't control fear from happening, but I can do what I can to be prepared for it. Yoga reminds me of this as I contract my core muscles and stand strong like a tree, imagining that I can't be pushed or blown over.

I'm starting to accept fear and it's wonky ways. I'm also starting to accept it as a part of others, too, and how it spills over and makes a mess sometimes.

Though I couldn't promise my mom I won't one day take my life and I was afraid of how she might feel and what she might think if I spoke the truth, I decided not to let my silence be so deafening.

In my response to my mother's worry for me, I addressed it by saying:

I saw your text before I went to bed and didn't know how to respond, so I let it sit.

The truth is, I can't promise something like that to you. I can't promise that to anyone. Not even myself.

Does it mean you should be worried about my mental health? Not necessarily.

None of us are immune from random and seemingly sudden moments of onset anxiety and depression; however, I'd venture that the "sudden-seeming" nature is really a surfacing of the truth that's hidden below.

I've struggled in my own silent and scary ways for a lot of my life, and it's likely why I created "rules" that were my way of trying to fix myself.

I'm aware that my son and my husband and I could choose not to be brave in this life; we could choose to give up.

That I haven't . . . that any of us haven't . . . is truly a miracle. 

I share this piece of my response to my mom because truth alone isn't enough to set us free

     . . . neither is love from our family, and
     . . . neither is time.

It isn't because we aren't good enough that explains why we continue to struggle in life, it's simply because we haven't arrived in a place where anything is perfect.

When we accept that we were made human, we just might begin to accept our brokenness . . . and even ourselves. 

Maybe, just maybe, we'll begin to simply be, as we are, instead of work to become someone we aren't (even yet).

Maybe we'll begin to see our beauty as the kind that in its rawness is sometimes hard to look at, yet reminds others that they aren't alone.

Maybe we'll begin to see our imperfect bravery of accepting ourselves as the most perfect beauty of all.

Maybe we'll begin to accept grace.

Maybe we'll begin to rest.

Maybe we'll begin to live.

on holding dreams (and my self) loosely

I'm developing a different kind of muscle memory these days; the kind that rests more than it clenches. My whole being is learning to loosen the grip I long held on everything that nearly strangled life right out of me.

A lot of my days were spent so focused on growing that I overlooked who I was. Laughing at my mistakes was something I couldn't imagine doing. I intensely and perfectly tried to be someone I wasn't and missed out on simply appreciating and enjoying me. Rules became my Ruler; my rigid and legalistic ways become my god.

God is so much bigger than me and any of my rules. He allowed me to reach a point of exhaustion where I fell in a heap and said:

     "If there's work to be done in me, You do it.
       I'm too tired to try anymore to fix me! 
       I'm choosing to just be me, as I am
       I'm trusting this is enough." 

In the midst of my giving up with trying to be better or different than I was, my hope was restored and I was given a fresh anointing of peace. And I was able to see that rest is the kind of offering that honors Him best.

To simply live, as I am . . . this is the heart of worship.

It took a long time for me to realize that no one and no thing could fulfill my dreams and give me the kind of life I longed to have. I was angry and agitated for so long, disappointed by all that I thought would give me happiness and peace.

It took brokenness for me to discover that I am loved far more than I ever considered.

It took a depleted heart for me to trust God and rest . . . to live. 

Each new day -- moment-by-moment -- has become an opportunity for me to unwrap God's grace, His true gifts . . . such rich evidence of His love for me.  

Even in the midst of uncertainties and questions that tempt to evade our very peace, we can trust that God loves us and He's got us, and everyone else, too. He knows just how far to let us go and just how far to take us in the valley; we can take a hands-off approach to fixing us (and fixing others).

We can rest.

Though it looks like God is cruel in allowing detours, delays, and disappointment, we can trust there's something He has for us to learn in the process that we've called waiting and simply call it: living.

: : : 

Join me at God-Sized Dreams for more on how I'm learning to hold even my dreams loosely. 

Also linking with Jennifer. 

an open apology, and an invitation to simply be . . . as . you . are .

I'm not sure how to address this . . .

To the ones I've embarrassed . . . 
To the ones I've judged . . . 
To the ones I've turned off . . . 
To the ones I've hurt . . . 

To all-y'all . . . 

I confess that I've been too much and not enough at the same time. 

I worried about this, knowing innately that something wasn't quite right, though not knowing exactly what or how to fix me.

The way I lived for so long (and might still have a tendency to sway toward) has been as an extremist. The kind who people look away from and talk about to other people. I've labeled my actions as passionate when really, I've been more than a tad over the top most of the time.

A heart can only take so much of this kind of living. Whether it's extreme happiness or extreme anger, living with such a level of intensity is too much for a soul to rest in peace.

Constantly flittering from one emotion to the next, I lived restless. To "abide" always seemed to me like "complacency" and that just didn't seem like the right thing that I or anyone should be. So I searched harder for what I thought I should be. I tried harder and harder to be who I thought I needed to be.

When I admit that I've lived like this, constantly wondering how I ought to live and to what, and where, and who my attention should be given, I realize that I sound crazy. Quite literally, I've felt it a lot of the time.

I tried all sorts of things to live differently and eventually realized that what I've missed is the "live" part. 

A lot of the time I just wanted to die and I spent my life waiting and even hoping that I would. Just being me, as I am, has always felt so weak when I thought there's more I could be doing. And sure, I could, but there's always a cost.

I thought that if I could just be certain that the reason why I don't have the desires of my heart isn't because something is wrong with me . . . that it isn't my fault why certain things are the way they are . . . that I can fix me and everything else, even if it's true that I've done something, then . . . maybe then I can live . . . but what then? 

Do I really think I'll have this peace-filled, joyous life more than I can have now? 

It's exhausting to try to be someone who I'm not.
It's equally exhausting to try to make someone else be who they are not.

To let things be goes beyond waiting. It ignores for a moment what might be or could be, and just let's what is to simply be. When I just sit back and let things be, there's a great sigh of relief from the intense pressure to perfect me, and you, and everyone.

There's joy to be found right here . . . 
   
     where we're mindful of all that is . . .
     where we simply unwrap it . . .

               and receive it . . .
               and marvel in it . . .
             
               as. it. is.

Personally, I believe that God allows all things for purpose and even when something or someone appears so ugly that there doesn't seem like there's any hope at all. I believe there are immense possibilities for the beauty that will be made out of everything. I think of these fuzzy little stuffed animals that existed when I was young that we could turn inside out and they'd become a different creature.

I see life this way:

     Transformable (also sometimes referred to as Redeemable)
     Brimming with beauty (in spite of any apparent brokenness)
     Hope-filled (even though . . . )

I've been so excited about so much in my life that I've wanted to share it with everyone.

That said, I confess that I have hardly considered what words I use that might trigger something in someone else and I have rarely exercised sound judgment. I've been reckless and abused my influence. I've spoken loudly and often, as if I'm on stage all lookatmeish.

I've assumed that I have a responsibility to preach people to conformity after I have been changed, myself . . . to take what I learn and turn it inside out for all the world to see.

I'm learning that I can let people be, as. they. are . . . even if (I think) they're blind.

Eyeglasses aren't meant to be shared.
The script that I have is unique to me.

I can't just toss my glasses to the next person and say:
     Here, take these . . . look through these and you'll see!

It hurts my groom when I share details about him and our life with people. I used to be flummoxed about this, and nowadays I really appreciate the intimacy that we share when we keep others out.

I'm learning that I don't need to share every single thing with every single person, including my relationship with God. My experience as His daughter is unique.

To blabber about what my Father says about me and my life is a lot of the time boasting and bragging doesn't do a bit of good for anyone. I wouldn't do this with my siblings and I wouldn't want my children doing it among each other, either.

My relationship with God is personal and private; not secretive, per say, just not necessarily appropriate for public display. I'm living by faith and less by fear. I'm resting as I trust that what I know is enough.

There's a loosing happening in me. 

     I'm learning to be quieter. 
     I'm learning what it means to live a life of rest. 

My heart is saddened as I'm aware of how I've turned people off and quite possibly hurt them without knowing it; maybe even knowing it and not caring.

For many unique reasons, some people have a problem with me and have chosen to distance themselves from me.

     Some might have blocked me on their Facebook feeds.
     Some might see me and look the other way.
     Some might cringe when I come.
     Some might wish I didn't exist.
     Some avoid my call or text.
     Some lie to me altogether.

I'm incredibly sad at this, heavy-hearted, and quite a bit embarrassed. But what keeps me from running away and hiding my face now is realizing that they knew things about me before I knew them about myself. What difference does it make to run away now? They have already done what they've needed to do since I couldn't see what needed to be done in me.

The people who have remained in my life are examples of how I am loved. They aren't any better than the people who have chosen a life with distance between us. Some might have better off if they did chose another way, though I am selfishly grateful for their choice to stay and maybe even suffer right along with me in their own unique way.

I don't want to imply that I have that much clout in people's lives, because I don't. 

     However . . . I know the influence people can make
          and the ways that we sometimes toy with each others hearts,
          as if we can just pull and tug however we want. 

I've toyed with people and nearly destroyed so much, but thankfully God is so much bigger than me, and her, and him, and you, and all of us. I'm so grateful for this, even though I've resented that I wasn't chosen to be more than who I am.

Pride is a part of being a person. It's ugly and wretched. Yet, it's okay that we are because it reminds us who is God and plays a big role in keeping us all praying in our own way. God can handle our horridness; He really can.

So, to the people I've hurt, I'm sorry for who I was. I'm sorry for who I am a lot of the time. Yet, I can't help it, and I trust that you'll see that, too. I trust that you've found, or are on your way of finding your own peace.

I pray that we'll rest, all of us . . . that we'll live . . . in joy

     . . . even though there's brokenness, and berating, and blaming,
             and behavior that makes us feel like we'll never be enough.

Nothing we've done has gotten us to where we are at this very moment. It's a gift we've been given because we are loved by Someone far better than any of us will ever be.

     You are enough.
          As you are.

     We all are enough.
          As we are.

Our lives were weaved together for purpose that our being imperfect won't ever mess up. 

I'll just keep on breathing, because breathing is something I really can't not to do.
I'll just keep on living, too, because it is also something that I can't not do.

Whether together or apart . . . let's live, let's learn, let's love . . . as. we. are.

     This is our worship.

Linking with Bonnie. 

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.

a lesson on art

I grew up with the mindset that being "artistic" is something a person either is or isn't.

Looking at everyone else's art would make me want to hide my own. I didn't think I was good enough. And as a parent, I've done the same thing with my son's artistic creations.

I've rolled my eyes, made excuses, and even suggested that he's a bit on the immature side. When he was attending public school, I would see the hallways lined with children's artwork and my mind would compare my son with his peers. Deep inside I didn't think he was good enough.

My nine-year-old son's pictures of people resemble stick figures while the same aged girl down the street practically has a person's complexion and jaw-line drawn out as real life-like.

This past winter I came home from work on several occasions to find my son handcrafting a three-dimensional "house" made out of construction paper. A staircase with a railing . . . a newscast script and video camera with wiring . . . a fireplace . . . a pizza box . . . grease on the floor of the garage . . . "The Sharp's" home, as he named it, was life-like! And beyond what I saw, the storyboard my son developed behind his self-motivated, independent paper creation is remarkable evidence of how his brain works; he thinks of details with an engineer-like mind.

As it turns out, my son was inspired by a three-dimensional paper exhibit he viewed at the new teaching museum on the campus where I work. Students here are expressive and many have a varied interest in art, though they aren't majoring in the subject. Art is studied cross-curricularly and my son has had the opportunity to see it for himself. An evening concert with mountain ballads, fiddle tunes, banjo playing, and scrolling illustrations called crankies, also recently inspired my son.

Beyond seeing art, The Boy-Man has been inspired to create art for himself . . . in his own way with his own creative thinking.

The thinking that I'm not good enough has been infused throughout my life story. Fear has coursed through my veins as I've compared and measured myself to others, placing limits on me that has squelched my risk-taking and courage to live, as I am.

It's awful to realize how much of myself I've given up. I didn't have a favorite color or food or flavor. The word should bossed me around and I'd look to others for the answers, as if life was a test I was cheating on because I was too afraid that I might be wrong about something.

Writing was something that I kept hidden for a long time, and I still get the heebie-jeebies to share among certain kinds of people, especially the academic-folk. I stay clear away from poetry because fear tells me I don't know how, yet someone told me once (or twice, maybe) that my writing is at times poetic-like. It's just that I don't always know how people decide to break the lines where they do and that's where fear gets the best of me.

People have also told me in recent years that I am real. Once I discovered what it feels like to just be me, I realized that I don't have a choice but to live any other way than as I am . . . if I want peace, that is.

I might be too much for some people. I might make some squirm or shuffle in their stance. I can tend to be a bit over the top and dive a bit too deep for some people. Others seem to appreciate how I openly share my heart and don't sugarcoat my thoughts. Passion carries me away sometimes and I live a lot by emotions and intuition.

I'm learning that living real and life-like is beautiful art. Living this way is the greatest gift we can give God. When we live our raw, real selves out loud we are honoring who He deliberately allows us to be. We can trust that if there is any part of us that needs any fixing, He'll do what's necessary in and through us.

We can simply be.

     This is our offering.
     This is our worship.

And so, I am choosing to trust these days more than I am choosing to fear. I'm stepping out and putting one foot in front of the other in a metaphorical way. I'm doing as I'm led, being actionable about God-sized dreams and crazy ideas, even though I don't have all my ideas perfectly all together and even though I'm not entirely 100% equipped right now.

To live in such a way whereby we fully and freely live reminds people that they aren't crazy as they are, and that they aren't alone. To live this way is to trust that God has purpose for us, as. we. are -- messy and immature and not entirely put together or fully equipped.

God has told me through the years that Peter, one of Christ's disciples, and I are kin. We were both shifty in nature, not confident enough to stand on our own two feet, bullied by fear. Yet, God worked in us an unshakable faith as we began to know Him in such a personal way. He told us both that we are a rock, for Him. Peter's faith built people up and God tells me that mine does too; that my faith is a place of stability in times of fear, reminding people that they can rest, as they are.

Our very living as. we. are. is the heart of worship. We reflect our trust that we can simply embrace who we are, and that God purposes us all of who and how we are for His glory. He's a God of inside out transformation, declaring the ugly as beauty and the imperfect as perfect, making our messy lives works of art.

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.

on learning to patiently wait

i've been picturing myself sitting on a bench with my jacket and boots on and my bags packed right next to me, waiting for the bus to come around the corner to pick me up.

God's got big plans for me and i'm going to be ready, so i've been waiting and i don't want to move from this spot.

i haven't wanted to be bothered for anything -- not to do work or chores around the house, not anything. i've been focused and ready. i'm stomach-flutter anxious like anyone, but i've done my homework to know my strengths, and i how to pick out my seat on the bus.

i've got these big, mountain-size dreams and i just need the bus to come and take me there. 

but i've got this life now, as it is.

and i'm learning that my choice to live this, right now, is my offering each day.

i haven't done this particularly well. i've sat and moped because the bus hasn't come yet and i've wondered if maybe i've missed it. i've seen other people get on and be all happyclappy with singsong and cheer that they've got a ride as i feel stuck here waiting for mine. i've wondered why we aren't on the same one and why i have to wait here doing this job when i ache for another of a different kind. 

i have so much hope in my bag that it's about to burst at the seams, yet i sometimes feel trite and foolish and not practical enough. i'm not a fan of reality though i'm learning to be real, and that just seems so silly to say. 

i don't so much like to stay in the box of how things should be and for rules to be the reasons why we don't pursue or try things. i push and question a lot, and it irritates me when people make excuses not to try new things -- like waiting for the right time to have kids and how that time never comes, or saying we're too busy to pursue a dream and how we'll never not be busy.

i know the slew of excuses that keep people held back and i don't want to be one of them, so my bags are packed and i'm ready to go. 

i don't have time in my day as it is to pursue the crazy launch of a magazine, or write a book, or go to conferences, or even lap up every last drop of all the wonderful blog posts my dear friends write.

yet . . .

i've got dreams on my heart made specifically for me and i want to be ready to take my seat when the bus comes. so i've been sitting here on this bench with my bags all packed.

but . . .

there's an office for me with a job to do and a house to maintain and a boy-man to raise.

and . . .

i need to trust that the right bus will make itself known when it gets here for me.

i know that delayed obedience is disobedience and i know that exhaustion and frustration is the consequence doing more than i need to do right now. i know this well because this is what happens when i live with more focus on tomorrow than on today.

when i'm brave to accept this moment, i find myself with more energy than if i just sit and wait in one place. so i have to trust that i won't miss out if he asks me to make pancakes today, or linger longer to hear another story, or give him another hug. 

even though i'm restless, i need to live by faith and be patient in today. 

just because i have these dream doesn't make me exempt from now. i have to trust this, right now will prepare me for that, whatever and whenever it is.  

when i live as though this is not meaningless, i actually give fuel for the dreams.

so i'm going to trust that i'll be sustained for the journey, 
     and, i'll be sustained for today. 

and i'll remember that today matters just as much as tomorrow and do this one before me, as it is.

this is my worship.

linking today with Ann. 

write

life is hard.

it doesn't always feel good and i'm definitely not always happy-clappy.

life sometimes comes hard and fast and at other times more like a slow drip.

i get irritated about my own proclivity of doing whatever to make it my way.

contentment takes its queue from comfort, and anger takes its queue from annoyed.

i wish circumstances didn't dictate my reaction to life. 

a small ridge forms in between my eyes a lot of days.

the lines stay there for awhile to remind me of the gruel of patience.

i complain more than i accept the way things simply are.

it's so hard to loose anger and disappointment at how things aren't. 

yet, it's really actually easier and less exhausting to let things be.

i'd like to be more tolerable that everything is out of my control.

barbed wire juts out from my mouth when i don't get what i want.

there's usually such a bloody mess left in the wake of my selfish impulsiveness.

i've learned what leads me to back to love my own messy self. 

it settles the popcorn in my noggin and gives me permission to be.

it's how i remember i'm human, in my raw and real and free.

i write.

this is my worship.

linking with Lisa-Jo.

on learning to honor thy self

We base our thoughts and our feelings on comparison, constantly pining for a benchmark other than letting our heart have its own voice. 

I wish we all would believe our very selves and loose the could’ve and would’ve kind of living, and the if only we were kind of mourning.

Comparing my life with others has squelched dreams and most of all: Hope. 

I’ve let what you (and others) think, define what I think. (And most of the time I haven’t known for sure what you really even think.) Energy has drained out of me as I’ve watched you being you and stepped up to my days as someone I’m not. I’ve told myself my dreams don’t matter . . . and put a thumbtack in even caring about what I think.

The desire my heart has most is for us all to just Be: As. We. Are . . . to accept our life as it is . . . to live our passions versus dismiss them. 

I picture ourselves as a living magazine boldly splaying the beauty that we are.

Join me at Laura Rath's place to read more . . . 

this is our worship.

restless

I've lived in fear for so long that gripping life tight and being intensely focused on what I thought I should do became a habit that was hard to break.

I wasn't sure why I lived this way; it always felt so natural.

     God kept nudging me to loosen my grip. 

I'd resist and declare: this. is. how. i. am! I didn't think I could change and thought I was doing everything right.

Being humbled makes everything feel like it's crashing around you. It made me imagine an Earthquake and wanting to push back the pictures and the dishes on the wall as I realize everything is shaking.

We aren't born with octopus-like arms, though, and we can't tend to both the walls and everything else crashing on our very selves. We have to choose to loosen our focus and to trust that even though it feels like the walls are crashing down, whatever may happen won't make all of who we are dissolve. We have to do this to live in peace.

Because, peace-choosing is all about releasing our wants and accepting what is.

To trust that the experiences we've lived (and live) won't be wasted, frees us from all the trying to create sense out of everything. We find rest here.

I've lived restless. And I've tried to figure out why and what I'm doing wrong to have this angst in my heart. I've tried to be content and counted what I've daily unwrapped as gifts. Still, there is a restlessness within me and try as I may it won't go away.

I see now that it's not discontent.

I've been restless to pursue hope, no. matter. what.

It's risky because it most assuredly will bring pain and disappointment. I can't control the outcome and that's the thing.

Still, I am restless for this.

"He is the builder of our dreams. We bring Him our blank canvases, hand them over, and say, whatever you must create to display your glory, do it." (Jennie Allen)

God has been chasing me. Wanting to be my every.thing, He has gently pried my fingers off of the reigns that have falsely given me the idea I'm in control. He continues to shift my focus off me and onto Him. He has helped me to serve just Him; not me or my comfort.

I want whatever He wants these days . . . though part of my hope, admittedly, is to be comfortable and to not hurt. And it's scary because I know myself; I know I want comfort sometimes more than I want His will. But I won't get comfort and life is hard and unfair.

     All in life is for purpose, though. I believe this.
     And I long for Him widen my capacity to trust.

Restlessness in me remains and I know I have been crafted with passions that each day stirs up. I've been purposed to leave a fingerprint, a stamp of His glory.

I'm restless for us all to loose our control . . . for us all to lead others closer to peace and rest by encouraging our Real-selves to live out. 

Like Jennie, I am restless for us all to not waste our days staring at ceilings wondering if there is more, any longer . . . . .

     for us all to . . . take the threads of [our] life and go live like it.

And so, I dare to declare that we each are commissioned to loose us and choose Him, to pursue hope and accept what.ever. is now and what.ever. may be.

Together, might our worship be to step up to the table, boldly Be who we are . . . and with sensitivity to His prompting, loose our idea of what and who we should be.

Let's do this life. Let's run into our restlessness.

this is our worship.

this is Christmas

I snarled at him this morning first thing.
And he's been throwing up throughout today.

It's Christmas and it doesn't feel as it should.

I watch the silent wonder in her eyes as she looks at the album.
And her grown son bends over to remind her "that's Pop".

It's Christmas and it doesn't feel as it should.

In all of it, Immanuel . . .
In all of it, grace.

For this is Christmas.
And all of it we unwrap.

this is our worship.

___________________________________

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