On Vulnerability

Over and over, I keep coming back to one section:

“Then I asked him how long it generally took for him to from the act of looking at porn to satisfy himself to returning to the foot of the cross to receive grace from God and be reminded that he was already forgiven and accepted.  He said it sometimes took days.  I asked him whom he was putting his confidence in—whom he was worshiping—during those days in between.  He said, ‘Well, I guess me’” (Saturate, Vanderstelt 60).

Specific issues aside, this particular story brought to mind a statement I’ve asked my students to evaluate every year:  You live out what you truly believe.

I’ve had a niggling in the back of my mind every time I’ve discussed that statement—one that told me my belief system wasn’t strong  enough to label myself with a million other people.  I was doing the community an injustice.  I was a fake.  I was a fraud.  And the one sentiment I think every human being understands:  I was doing it wrong.

I’ve written so much over the last five years.  I’ve let people into my struggle with infertility and my belief system without actually giving them to opportunity to see me.  I wrote with a heavy hand on the delete button and my mind firmly positioned in EDIT.

Feeling like I’m not enough has become a condition.  For someone who did some really good things at a really young age, I feel like I’ve never quite measured up…always mediocre.  At best, middle of the road. (And at worst, worthless.)  I keep trying to earn acceptance and approval from the people who make up my little world without appreciating the very thing that allows for joy is the thing that also makes me susceptible to disapproval or ostracism:  vulnerability.

Believe it or not, the lack of vulnerability is why Venderstelt’s story has replayed in my mind for the last week.

Any time I chose something other than Christ, I’ve worked for that forgiveness.  I refused to let the inner parts of me be seen.  I’ve worked to be sorry.  I’ve hidden and pretended that I’m A-OK when I’m not and hoped at some point that something I’ve done may be enough to bring me back to a place where grace can be for me.  But that’s not belief at all.

I feel like it’s some new revelation that belief means I’m willing to come to the foot of the cross and ask for forgiveness and trust that God is enough.  He is enough for my forgiveness.  He is enough to change my heart.  He is enough.  He is enough.  He is enough.  I don’t have to be.

For these thirty some odd years, I keep talking about being broken without actually letting people see I’m, you know, broken.  It’s embarrassing.  I’m ashamed of my downfalls.  My slips.  My choices.  I get red-faced over the things I’ve said.  The things I’ve felt.  The attitudes I’ve cultivated.

I doubt those things are unique to me, but fear is alienating.  It makes us believe others will hate us or disregard us if we put ourselves out there.  We keep trying to work to be whatever it is that will allow us to be accepted instead of understanding what’s available is imperfect and, well, broken.  And that’s not unique to us.

So here we are.  I’m not enough.

And I’m working on understanding that accepting my “not-enoughness” is exactly the thing that opens the door for authentic relationships—with others, with myself and with Christ.

Thoughts?

The Words

Words are a large part of my life.  In the last three years, the words that I've had a pressing to focus on were Obedience, Peace and Gratitude.  I can look at each of those words and immediately understand that God was/has been trying to education me through the circumstances of 2012-2014.  They are words that are still applicable, but I feel like I've missed their efficacy.

I'd like my word for 2015 to be Rest.  I'd like to rest in all the things I've prayed for and the whirlwind of change these last few years have been.  

In some cases, I've felt like I couldn't talk about these things because 1. some people have it worse or 2. it makes me sound ungrateful (or maybe I am ungrateful...that's open for interpretation), or even worse 3. I sound like a catty bitch.  

Maybe those are accurate descriptors.  I think it's just time I laid down some of the baggage I've been carrying so I can finally let it go.  

Baggage #1

I'm not entirely over our unscheduled exit from our previous church.

It's hard to know people your entire life and then realize that many of them really didn't like you and were not sorry to see you go.  Not long after we left, I pulled up emails from another church member who prayed regularly for me over a period of several years (via email).  I was nostalgic and needed some reminder that I was loved and cared for despite current circumstances.  When I reread those emails, I realized that almost every email for a few years included some sort of criticism from this man's wife.  She commented that she didn't like something I did, or the attitude I had or something I was wearing.  This is the same person who blames me for my family's exit from the congregation.  I thought her feelings toward me were new, but turns out, I had overlooked the fact that she never liked me and was quite vocal about that dislike to her family.  That was a hurtful realization, and it made me realize there were a number of people I've known my whole life who looked at the floor or the ceiling so things wouldn't get uncomfortable.  I'm not over it because I'm still angry with these people.  Thankfully, I've learned that their opinions of me are worth as much as a paperweight in space.  But I'm still angry.

In addition, I miss some of the groups from that church.  I don't want to sing Praise and Worship, but I miss the camaraderie that came out of that group--even though we ended up with an unwelcome fourth member.  I haven't been able to cultivate the same spirit that was in my previous Bible study groups and I miss the wisdom and acceptance that came from those women.  I miss the accountability and I have no idea how to get back to that place or prepare the ground for a new, worthwhile planting.

Baggage #2

I am angry that the pastor of the church we moved to is a liar and a thief.

Favorite and I carefully visited churches to try to figure out where we could grow.  Ultimately, we wanted to be part of a community that wanted to be part of the community in which it resided (not an insular community).  That's what we had where we landed.  We built relationships.  We were involved in multiple service projects.  We felt like a team.

And then we found out it was a lie.  We discovered reality more than a year ago and I'm still angry with him for promising us a place to heal while knowing he had created a fantasy.  None of it was real.

Maybe that should resolve since justice has been done and he's going to prison.  But it doesn't change those who are left in his wake.

Baggage #3

I'm still pretty resentful of the fact that we carefully chose and things were completely upended when this man was arrested.  

We had a small group we loved.  We were learning and growing and healing. The arrest happens, my best friend leaves and then our small group is disbanded because our leaders looked for employment elsewhere.

The open, informal atmosphere changed completely.  If we were choosing today, this likely isn't what we would've chosen.  

Will saying that out loud piss some people off?  I'm sure it will.  I'll be told I can leave or make the best of the circumstances we are in.  And that's fine.  You're welcome to tell me anything you want. 

Fact of the matter is it isn't always easy to just pick up and leave.  Previous circumstances made that abundantly clear.  In turn, we are all limited in many ways when it comes to making the "best" of the current situation.  You may not believe I'm doing much on that front.  I don't really care what you believe because I probably don't trust you and I probably like you less than I trust you. 

Baggage #4

One person who left had every reason to feel abandoned, upended and alone, but I'm bothered that she never seemed to care about the people who also suffered as a result of this man and his alternate reality.

And she need not give me that garbage about standing beside her because I would've supported her to the ends of the earth.  You weren't the only one hurting.  It wasn't all about you.  It still isn't.

I'm laying these things down here so I don't have to pick them up again.  It's time to rest and find something new in the future.  It's time to apply those lessons of obedience, peace and gratitude.  It's time to openly embrace the gifts I've been given along with the emotional ruckus.

Hey, 2015.  It's good to see you.  You've got a lot of healing to do so let's get on with it.

Putting the Reins on Passion

Benjamin Franklin once said, "If passion drives you, let reason hold the reins."  I've thought about passion frequently in the past few days because I encountered it in situations when I least expected to see it.  And when that happened, I had to second guess a few things, ask a few questions and find a way to soothe my hurt feelings.  Franklin adds reason to the equation purposefully--because passion invokes strong feelings that can be difficult restrain.

Most of the time, I consider myself a fairly passionate person.  I'm passionate about what I do.  I love most of my students and I believe in the value of education.  I'm a strong supporter of public education (though I'm not against homeschooling or private education) because I know not every student has the resources to receive education otherwise.  I get my panties in a twist when people (in general) suggest it would be in our best interest to eliminate the public school system entirely.  

I love being a Mommy and I have strong feelings about being a good one.  The problem is my interpretation of "good" Mommy and someone else's interpretation are vastly different things.  I found that out when I joined a Mommy Group.  I know; I know.  I probably should've stayed out of the Mommy Group arena, but here's the deal:  we cloth diaper.  That's not a big deal, but cloth diapering companies give you these wash instructions that encourage you to treat them like they're precious porcelain...the thing your kid poops in.  So when KnickKnack found this Mommy Group that helps tweak wash routines for cloth diapers, I was all about it.

And they have been helpful.  I enjoyed having some insight into this parenting thing.  Then I made a mistake.  One Mommy made a comment that she was having difficulty getting her kid to sleep through the night without nursing him to sleep.  I commented that we used BabyWise and that helped us get our kids on a reasonable schedule so they knew how to react when it was time for night-night.

And then the hail rained down from heaven.

I receive a barrage of comments regarding this book and how it has led to failure to thrive, child abuse and a multitude of other things that clearly indicated I was the world's worst mother.  I felt defensive and upset.  The comments that were made regarding this particular text were far from accurate, and I felt like these women were indicating that my children were suffering at my hands.  After that, I learned that if you stick around in Mommy Groups you'll also learn people are passionate about the following:

• Breast feeding (Apparently you're a monster if you don't or if you can't--there's no differentiation between the two.  And if you can?  You should until your kid is 10.)
• Vaccinations (You're a monster if you do.  You're a monster if you don't.  Good luck on that one.)
• Car seats (Don't keep them rear facing until they're teenagers?  Clearly you want your children to die.)
• Circumcision (Why would you mutilate your child in that way?)
• Co-Sleeping/Cry It Out (The latter is also called CIO.  On my Mommy Group, people err on the side of co-sleeping.  Co-Sleepers think all other people are CIOs and don't want a close relationship with their kids.  CIOs or non-co-sleepers think all Co-Sleepers are crazy hippies with no regard for their marriages/relationships.  Again, best of luck to you.)

Basically, on any given day, you're pretty much failing as a Mom and the good majority of these women will be glad to tell you exactly why you're failing as a Mom.

So I've been thinking about where others encounter my passions.  And I've been afraid to think that I've made someone feel like a little less because I feel so strongly on those subjects.

This morning, I heard Selah's "You Amaze Us" and for the first time, I started contemplating what it means for Christ to consume us wholly.  I used to talk about the concept in college, but I don't think I really grasped the enormity of those words.  Truthfully, though, I need something to direct all the passion--for something to hold the reins when I purposefully or accidentally make someone feel a little less than.  

That's where my prayer will start tonight--for Christ to consume me.  Maybe that will direct my passion for my community, my school, but most of all, my family.  Directed passion...what a concept.

#PayItForward

On her blog, Teaching Sam and Scout, Elizabeth Chapman has been interviewing working moms.  There are several questions she's asked them to answer, but the one that sticks out to me the most was this one:  What's the best thing about being a working mom?  What's the worst or hardest thing?

When I answered that question initially, all I could think about was missing milestones in Ryan and Eli's lives, but now that I really consider that question I would answer it differently.  The worst thing about being a working mom is likely also the worst thing about being a mom in general:  anxiety.

I can only wish that I would be able to capture the minutiae of anxiety the way William Styron writes about depression in his work Darkness Visible.  Unfortunately, no amount of wishful thinking makes me a writer, so I'll simply tell you what I know:  anxiety is a sneaky bastard.

There are a hundred things I enjoy about being a mom and teacher.  These titles are the things I like best about myself.  But there are days when I can only focus on the piddling things that surround these designations.  

Eli wakes up happy almost every day.  He smiles at me and tracks my movements as I walk through the kitchen to gather my stuff before I leave.  He talks and coos and giggles, and I try my best to soak it in because I know he won't be little for long.  I'm pretty successful most days.  Then the sucker punch:  the diapers have a smell they shouldn't have; my living room is a mess; I don't have time to read/grade papers; I haven't had time to meal plan; I need to go to the grocery store; my milk supply seems to be decreasing; I don't exercise regularly; I'm still struggling with the baby weight.  

Any one of those things is completely manageable, but there are days one of those issues or any combination of those issues will knock the breath out of me.  I cannot get my mind off of the fact that maybe I'm not washing diapers correctly or I won't be able to nurse Eli the way I had hoped (which is made harder by the fact that I couldn't nurse Ryan).  I get snagged in the threads of detail and I cannot manage to untangle my feet from the mess.  And the bigger picture?  Completely invisible in those moments.

They attack without warning.  On the best mornings--the ones where I'm feeling the best, that things are going well and I'm doing a good job at most things in my life--they ambush me from a corner.  And because I don't like to cry in front of people, I spend those mornings gritting my teeth and attempting to occupy my racing mind with something other than the knotted thread tied around my brain.

That is the worst part of being a working mom.  Actually, now that I think about it, that's the worst part of being a human being.  I can remember the same issues in the days I didn't work and I can certainly identify them in the time period we waited to become parents.

But this anxiety made me think about another question Elizabeth asked:  "What items or tips do you recommend to help 'make it work'?"

I responded that we all need someone in our lives who can help keep things in perspective.  That's true, but I think working moms, moms, and people in general need encouragement.  On the days when the anxiety is the worst, I need someone to pat me on the back and tell me I'm doing a good job.  (Which is weird given that words of affirmation aren't really my thing most of the time.)  

Because of that, I wonder how many of us are willing to choose one person, just one person, to encourage every week for the next month?  And what if we asked each of those people to pay it forward?  What kind of change would we see in our families, our workplaces, our own demeanor?

Would you join me in a pay it forward campaign?  Feel free to share ways people have encouraged you #payitforward

On Value

At small group we've been talking about our stories--about the things and the people who have defined who we are.  Favorite and I laughed because we've become those people who talk about their children incessantly.  My Instagram feed is all kids all the time, and I've found myself fitting Ryan and/or Eli into every conversation I can.

Maybe most new parents can relate to that sentiment.  I'm just not sure I'm ever going to get over the wonder of being a mom--in large part because that wasn't supposed to happen.  Maybe it's weird to keep defining myself with loss and infertility in mind, but those experiences color the way I see my current reality.  They changed the way I approached Christ and the way I interact with others.

That said, I do not believe those experiences mean I value motherhood more than the woman who got pregnant very quickly and birthed a healthy child with no complications.  My experience colors my interactions--not the way I see yours.  Stick with me here because I'm going to try to share these thoughts as diplomatically as possible starting with my own experience:  I do not believe my experience is more spiritually significant than someone else's.  And I'm tired of people who seem to believe otherwise.

As a member of the Christian community, I believe in the idea that life is precious, but I refuse to promote the notion that one life is more precious than another.  It stands to reason that I would be offended by people who imply that adoption would've been far more laudable than giving birth to Ryan--and not because I fought tooth and nail for that pregnancy.  It's offensive because it implies one life or action deserves to be honored above another.  That one sacrifice matters and another does not.

One thing I would often repeat to myself on days I was really struggling is a quote from John Donne:  "Other men's crosses are not my crosses."  It wasn't just a reminder that we struggle differently; it was a reminder that my struggle may lead to a different outcome than someone else's.  My situation definitely helps me keep things in perspective on the days I have two very fussy boys, but I would never Jesus Juke another Mommy with that information.  (You know, when people say things like, "You should really appreciate what you have because some people can't have it."  Or another variation of that statement.  Or imply some people would/have paid an arm and a leg for the same privilege, blah blah blah.)

For the life of me, I cannot understand why we attach value to human beings because of how/when/why they came to be in our lives.  Ryan and Eli have value to me because they are mine--regardless of how they came to be in my life.  But their real value comes from the fact that Christ loved them first--before they were born or imagined in my heart.  That's where all value originates.  Not in our experiences (difficult or easy, expensive or cheap) but in the heart of a Saviour to gave Himself for us before we were even in existence.  

Mean Girls

I usually attempt to craft some sort of opening that will catch my readers' attention because I like to pretend I'm a writer.  But since having kids, my thoughts are significantly less streamlined.  They look a little more double-helix-y these days--one thought connects to another thought connects to another thought--until I have no idea where I started or how I started concentrating on this subject.

In fact, Favorite likes to play this game with me:  he'll ask what I'm thinking about in that very moment and I have to tell him and then trace how I got to that thought in the first place.  It's often an odd set of associations that have ultimately reassured him he will never understand the way my mind works.  

Ladies, this is why we should feel a little sorry for our men.

But the bigger thought on my mind is how our men usually end up taking the blame for something I think we've perpetuated on our own.  Namely?  Mean Girl Syndrome.

I can't exclude myself.  I am horribly judgmental--particularly when it comes to other women.  Which is odd given that I would prefer to avoid close relationships with women because of The Drama.  (Of course I capitalized it.  And I'm willing to bet all of you know exactly what I'm talkin' bout.)  Like most things, though, it took blatant observation to call my hand on my own hurtful stereotypes.

We stare at women who don't look the way they used to--the ones who've gained a little weight, a few wrinkles or other physical imperfections.  Many of us use those visual sessions to reassure ourselves that we are (thinner, prettier, younger looking, less blemished) than the model we see in front of us.

But the thing I've noticed more than labeling physical appearance?  Some inherent need to call other women crazy.

I can count on two hands the number of times I've heard someone refer to a man as crazy.  One of them was when a guy I knew snowed a large group of people and stole money from a non-profit organization.  Another was when a friend's husband spent the 8 years they were married constructing a life that was more fairytale than anything else.  In both of these instances, it was clear that the people involved did not have strong footing in reality.

The number of times I've heard a woman described as crazy?  Incalculable.

Here are the instances I can think of right off the top of my head:

1.  She's not married but she wants to be.

2.  She doesn't have a baby but she wants one.

3.  She thinks another girl's boyfriend is cute.

4.  She doesn't agree with me on a subject.

5.  She's not the kind of girl I would hang around with.

6.  She's marrying someone I have a close relationship with and I don't much like her.

7.  She doesn't like the same things I like.

8.  She doesn't have the same hobbies I have.

9.  She talks about working out all the time.

10.  She talks about her struggle to lose weight.

11.  She is very passionate about her family.

12.  She holds grudges.

13.  She refuses to discuss certain subjects.

14.  She doesn't openly share her life story so we can understand her.

15.  She shares too much of her life story.

16.  She spends too much money.

17.  She refuses to spend any money.

18.  She focuses too much on one subject.

19.  She's very confrontational about subjects where she has no experience.

20.  She's stupid and loud (which apparently also makes her crazy).

How many things can crazy mean?  And ladies, what is our obsession with handing out that label like we're all psychiatrists?

In the darkest days of my life, I felt like I was sliding down some sort of crazy slide with no bottom.  I couldn't control how I felt and I was terrified I would never be myself again.  I can remember feeling like the world was in fast forward around me, and the number of people who treated me like I was just another nut case who needed to get my crap together was severely hurtful.  

I have no idea what was said about me in the privacy of another person's home.

But I can imagine.

And more than anything, it makes me wonder why we, as women--knowing the places we've navigated--don't seem to offer a little more grace to the women around us.

We don't know it all; I don't know it all.

We can't make the judgment calls that dictate whether or not she is right for him.

We can't constantly refer to her struggle through this or that as crazy.

We can't continue to dismiss each other because our experiences or likes are a little different.

On a good day, I like to pretend that our preoccupation with weight, looks and psychological well being is due to the pressure put on our gender by men.  But my experience tells me that thought couldn't be further from the truth.

I keep thinking it's time to let these thoughts inform my actions--to myself and the women around me.

This is part of grace...right?

On Fear

I can't remember a time I didn't love to read.  Even when my parents strongly encouraged us (with lack of choice) to participate in children's quizzing at church, I found stories and characters in scripture with whom I fell in love.




But they weren't the Israelites.




There wasn't a time when I read anything about the Israelites that I had any faith in their ability to be anything but whiny pains in the butt.  Deliver them from Egypt?  They think they'll starve.  Give them food and water?  They'll refuse to follow directions and hoard so it rots.  Follow them as a cloud and a pillar of fire?  They'll build a calf so they can have a tangible representation of something to worship.




It might be fair to say I'm a bit of a smug reader.  I could flip forward a few pages and know exactly how God intended to provide so I spent a lot of time smacking my forehead and thinking that these Israelite people really weren't the brightest crayons in the box.  The God of the Universe who delivered you from Pharaoh was clearly going to feed you in the desert, morons.  Get.It.Together.


If only I'd known that somewhere in my 30s I'd realize fear can be an awfully powerful motivator.  Because then?  I'd recognize myself in the hearts of these people who had witnessed miracle after miracle only to whine that the next set of needs could not possibly be met.


Fear is paralyzing.  I know because I've spent much of the last year in that state.


Oh, let's be honest.  Fear is the thing I fight on a regular basis.  But it's certainly been much more debilitating this last year.  After moving from a church with pastor/financial issues, Favorite and I found ourselves in a church with severe pastor/financial issues.  While we weren't the only ones blindsided by the lies, we did ask a lot of questions.  It's hard to discount the fact that two churches faced similar leadership issues (which one church sanctioned and one church did not) and the only common denominator was us.  An entire congregation faced severe loss--in friendship, trust, unity and money.


I lost the first close friend I've had since my best friend moved to Ohio.


Let me be honest:  I've been terrified.  Sure, I've seen God move us in miraculous ways, but in the latter part of 2013 (and the first part of 2014), all I could see was that He led us out of Egypt to starve in the desert. 


It wasn't long until things at work unraveled due to an unsettled contract and negotiations that would prove to create what is best termed as a hostile work environment for the better part of 6 months.  We were far from destitute, but in each situation, terror was slowly claiming pieces of my mind.  And the unclaimed pieces?  Were dry from the desert sun.


Then, in the desert, I discovered we were expecting.


If Ryan was the blessing of my life, Eli is proof of God's overwhelming extravagance.  But his presence did little to alleviate my fear.  Suddenly, I was hoarding manna and quickly discovering God's command to take only what I needed resulted in rot and panic.


In the past 7 months, I've been terrified that Eli's birth will meet with far less excitement than Ryan's.  It's hard to lose a cheerleader, and I know Courtney would have asked about every doctor's appointment and movement.  She wouldn't have raised her eyebrows that my sons are going to be so close in age (or told me terrifying stories about how awful the first year is going to be) and she would've thought it was great we were having another boy.  I'm not romanticizing her reactions either; I experienced them first hand with Ryan.


I'm scared to become a mom of two.  Sure, women have done it before me, but I've only been in this mommy business for a year.  I don't have it figure out so throwing another baby in the mix when Ryan is still very much a baby is, well, I have a hard time catching my breath.


Blessed?  Sure.  Beyond belief.  But like a thundercloud at a pool party, fear often overshadows the blessing I know I should be feeling right now.


I keep putting my ear a little closer to the page when I read about the Israelites.  I need to hear their individual voices and see God's tender hand consistently moving across those pages to touch the concerns of each person--not because I'm not blessed, but because I don't want fear to become the mitigating factor in my reaction to every situation.


Like Paul, I think most situations are about having scales fall from our eyes so we can see just a little more clearly--all the while anticipating the day when we don't see through a glass darkly.

The End of Winter

I will never understand why we start the new year in the middle of winter.  Nothing is new in January; it's all dead, dying, cold and generally dull.  We should honestly save resolutions for Easter because I'd be willing to bet more people would stick to an exercise routine in 70 degree weather than a gym regimen in the middle of the coldest month in the Midwest (except for this winter when all winter months have sucked).






It caught me off guard to see Sweet Williams blooming yesterday.  I should've expected their arrival given the nice weather we've been experiencing for the last few days, but I've gotten so used to the endless winter, I'd forgotten they would grace us with their presence at all. 






I needed to see Sweet Williams.  I think I needed to be reminded that all winters--figurative and literal--come to an end. 






I'm still working on how that ending looks.  I understand very little about forgiveness, grace or even gratitude, and I didn't know that until we were hit with an endless snowstorm.  So that's where this season begins--a few steps, patches of purple-y carpet and the hope of glory.

The Truth in Love

“If our only response is to speak the truth in love to the exclusion of the hundreds and hundreds of verses that call us toward mercy, peace, kindness, hospitality, and patience while leaving judgment to God, the only One able to judge fairly and correctly (James 4:11-12), consequently also the only One who transforms and sanctifies, then I insist that you exercise that practice with every single sinner in your life.  Every single one.  Every single sin.  Otherwise that obedience has no integrity.  Every. Single. Sin.  I want it called out in truth and love, I want it blogged about, I want it argued into legislation, I want it discussed in public forums outside of genuine relationships, I want articles, I want excommunications.  I would respect a believer who calls out every sinner and sin around him in equal measure over one who selectively applies Scripture to certain categories. (I would not like that believer, but I would at least respect his consistency.)”  --Jen Hatmaker

I’ve been in the middle of this weird personal crisis where I keep trying to determine what it means to be in community with other people, how to best use my gifts and even this strange assessment of what my gifts actually are.  In a lot of ways, I’ve been limited in how I can write about it—partially because there seems to be weight in a word written and partially because I just don’t know what to say.  Even identifying a starting point is difficult.  Well, if you’re the kind of person who needs clear starts and stops.

A lot of people do—need clear starts and stops, that is.  And those starts and stops must be accompanied by clear reasons and must be logical to the person listening.  Rarely does the logic allow hurt on both sides and even less often does it account for the consequences of choice.

That’s where I’d like to start at least.  I’d like to call it speaking the truth in love and just lay all my raw thoughts out there from the last year.  That’s one reason the quote from Hatmaker caught my attention.  Her basic admonition is that we tend toward the truth we feel is necessary to share and assume love is present because this person or that person is/was tragically unaware of his/her transgression.  But it also caught my attention because I don’t know how best to love people.  And as someone who often says the wrong thing without even intending to (or realizing it), I can tell you loving people in Christ and for Christ feels like the equivalent of holding a live grenade.  I’m not sure when or how it will go bad, but I am sure we’re all heading downhill.

Usually, that means I’m hesitant to commit to people.  I stand to the side and watch and carefully catalog what I notice.  I see that you are afraid people won’t like you or that what you’re doing will be unsuccessful so you attempt to guide situations or people’s thoughts in the direction you’d most like them to go.  I’ve noticed that you’ve been hurt badly enough to cushion your interactions with everyone.  Most of the time, I catch your insecurity and your attempt to cover it with positive statements that often come across (personal opinion here) as hollow. 

Watching has afforded me a wide assortment of knowledge about other people.  Very often, people will be clear about exactly who they are if we are patient enough to pay attention.  So while some of it is based on personal opinion, much of it is performed loudly enough that I get it without ever allowing my thoughts to enter the picture.  That said, my problem isn’t really seeing people (for the most part).

I just don’t know what to do with that information.  I don’t know how best to love you in your circumstance.  Favorite says I come off as judge-y.  I don’t know how that statement could be anything but true.  If I can see you, but I don’t know what to do with you, I find ways to stay away from you.  It’s that simple and that complicated all at once. 

Here’s my struggle with how this applies to community, though:  I deeply understand the theology of grace.  I know myself and my tendencies and I am flabbergasted that Jesus would also see those things and want me anyway.  My unsurety sits firmly in the fact that I have no idea how to react toward other people with that kind of grace even when I approach the situation with that intention.  I either come off as the judge-y “speak the truth in love” Christian or I come off as the person who is completely dismissive of behavior that isn’t always best ignored.

So when it comes to best using my gifts within my current community?  Yeah.  No idea.  And, unfortunately, just putting gifts into practice isn’t always the issue.  (There’s a lot more to be said on that topic, but one thing at a time for now.)

I’ve never seen the play Wicked, but at the beginning of the song “For Good,” Elphaba sings, “I’m limited…just look at me, I’m limited…”  I think of those lyrics pretty often anymore.  We are so limited in our abilities and our responses—to ourselves and to others.  Nothing is more clear to me than the need for a Jesus who can break through all that nonsense.  So I keep asking—crisis, questions and all—what now?

To Stabilize in Rejoicing

"Stability of the world depends on the rejoicing in Your [God's] works." --John Calvin

Voskamp asks, "Doesn't my world also stabilize when I rejoice in Your words?" (One Thousand Gifts Devotional 31).

I'm trying to process those thoughts because I don't want to be flippant about this relationship that often confounds me.  I think maybe the difficulty is in the word "stabilize."  The first entry on Google says, "Make or become unlikely to give way or overturn."  That makes so much sense to me, because my initial feeling about stabilization indicates an "evenness" I never have in difficulty.  I'm far too emotional--too up and down to be "even" during chaos.  And I've envied people with that kind of demeanor.

But the fact that rejoicing in God may be the very thing that keeps me from "giving way"?  Yeah.  I get that.  In the middle of the darkest days, when I first started praying for God to save us from drowning, I couldn't' see any movement on His part.  I prayed in panic daily--sometimes hourly--because I honestly felt like breathing was an impossible task.  Looking back, I know that "no response" isn't true.  (Though, I only saw Him through this "looking back.")  We never overturned.  We breathed in water, but did not drown.  We walked through the fire, not without scorch marks, but without being burned up.

That description doesn't sound much like rejoicing--simply praying for survival.  But isn't acknowledgement of God in itself rejoicing?  Isn't it honest and open recognition of who He is?  A recognition of the creation in the chaos, to quote L'Engle.

That's how I didn't overturn.  I cried.  A lot.  And I was honest with the One Who Hears.  

So I guess my world does stabilize in rejoicing.  I'd never thought about it like that.

You've Been Weighed; You've been Measured

I've spend this pregnancy in a weird place--overwhelmed and excited to do something again we'd never thought we'd do once and simultaneously cursing the state of my body when we learned Ryan would be a big brother.  It's sad, and I'm mostly ashamed to admit that I've looked in the mirror with far less wonder than I did when my belly grew the first time.


All my life, I've heard jokes about men and how they compare "members" without realizing women are far worse about measurements.  We aren't just concerned about inches, but about pounds.  We measure weeks and months, ounces and amounts.  We measure intensity and emotion and worth and contribution.  We measure cost and time and devotion.  And when the sum total is in?  We almost always find ourselves wanting.

All that measurement leaves little room for wonder.  It suffocates grace and makes gratitude almost impossible.

It's strange to me that a year of focused gratitude would come at a time when I'm so zeroed in on measuring--as strange as last year when the word "peace" was dictated in a year of chaos.  I've spouted sayings that indicate situations like this are how we learn, but I wonder why that's the case.

Ann Voskamp describes thanks as recognizing the gift set before us, and, ultimately, how that attitude makes joy possible.  Because, she points out, "wonder really could be here--for the seeing eyes" (One Thousand Gifts Devotional 27).  Maybe my lack of gratitude stems from my unwillingness to see, and leads to my inability to perceive the wonder of what's around me--the gift of my boys, my coworkers, my church.

Far too often, I see the obligation and fail to receive the gift.  

Dismissive Communication

Contract negotiations at my school are in a much better place than they were two weeks ago.  I've had trouble determining right action during the whole process because I'm not a huge fan of the Us/Them mentality that develops out of situations like this one. 


When those mentalities first developed, I shrugged my shoulders because I believed it really was just part of the process.  My dad served on a school board for a couple of decades, so I feel like I speak from experience there.  I feel like the real loss, though, comes in the form of an unwillingness to reach out for the sake of conversation--people don't want to look at each other.  Forget talk.


We stop hearing each other.  We stop understanding that some (though definitely not all) motives might be good intentioned the way ours are.


I'm guilty.  After several months of emotional ups and downs on a contract, I just wanted resolution.  I got tired of hearing that my one concern as a teacher was money and I was sitting pretty with a "posh" contract and I needed to count my blessings.


Those were the things that were actually said.  What I heard was that it was OK for others to have deeper concerns regarding contract negotiations, but any unwillingness on my part to accept what is offered is greed, plain and simple.  It didn't matter if there were reasonable solutions presented.  At that point, I couldn't hear them.


Sometimes it's hard to hear people.  Hearts are all tied up in words and that may mean there is intention and deep conviction behind something that sounds a little flippant at the forefront.  But I'm so quick to dismiss words--a lot because I'm an introvert and would prefer to surround myself with only people I know and connect with easily, but also because I think I've allowed myself to become dismissive with words, and, as a result, people.


It's a work in progress.  It's letting myself share what I think without being able to fully process the emotion behind it and then allowing someone else the same luxury.


That's the difficult part--allowing someone else the same luxury.


Because often there just aren't conclusions--and I need to stop drawing them.

Nostalgia

Since I've closed my blog, my only reader is you, Ronnie.  You'd think that means I'd be more willing to sit here and type the things I'm really thinking instead of constantly editing how I need my thoughts to read, but that's clearly not the case.  Otherwise, there would be more than two posts in the last four months.




I've been thinking a lot about what you said about nostalgia--particularly church nostalgia.  I think tonight I'm super guilty of the same sort of sentiment.  It's not about the old church, exactly.  I can't gloss over the problems enough to be guilty of nostalgia in that respect. 




I don't belong at The View.  I'd like to tell you I know exactly why, but I can't.  Everyone else seems to be finding a little niche, but I can't figure out what I'm supposed to be doing there or why I felt drawn there in the first place.  The deep connections we had before the Josh saga have largely disappeared and few people seem to interact the way they did previous to that incident.  Jermaine and Mallory, who were great connection points for me, have left for another pasture (which I hesitate to identify as "greener" as I'm not entirely sure that's the case) which was further small group displacement.  Not only that, but I really connected with Mallory which you well know isn't something I do easily.  I alienate people.  It's my personality.  But it's weird for church dynamics.  I assumed that being a Mom would automatically connect me to the other moms, but that's a misconception.  I'm probably never going to work in the nursery or kid's church.  It's just not my thing.  (And one Sunday of accidentally saying something inappropriate to a repeater would prove that true.)




I don't want to be a part of Praise and Worship.  I don't want people to look at me.  I don't want to be on the stage.  But music is such a vital part of worship for me.




So I'm nostalgic.  I miss my women's group.  I miss their consistency and welcoming nature.  I miss our understanding and their commitment to drawing others to Christ.  I miss their lack of judgment on how Christ works through individuals.  And that nostalgia means I feel sorry for the people who must really just long for the day when they felt like they really belonged.




You think that's what nostalgia is about?

That Stupid, Stupid Song

I hate the song "Blessings."  There.  I said it out loud and pushed myself to the outside of inspirational Christian music circles everywhere.  I hate it.  And I refuse to listen to it.  Feel free to share your feelings about how this song is so meaningful, blah blah blah, but don't expect me to sit around and soak it in with you if you start singing.

More than once people have asked what my issue is with what has been called a beautiful ballad in many music circles.  In simplest terms, I feel it's a trite response to real human suffering.  I'm sure I haven't been the only person stuck in spiritual quick sand anticipating suffocation only to run into a well-meaning individual who wanted to play this song in hopes that I'd find comfort and the faith to believe God's Word.  My actual reaction was to seriously consider slitting my wrists.  I was praying to survive--for "comfort" or "for Your mighty hand to ease [my] suffering"--but I needed to know that God loves me "way too much to give [me] lesser things"?

That's a strange way to encourage an individual to "have faith to believe."  And I guess I feel like those lyrics do little to outline where one goes from this point:  we suffer; we believe; we understand it will be better when we die.  In the darkest days of my depressive fog, that continual message would have been enough to convince me I'd gotten out of my bed for the last time.

There's also something about the perspective of the song that makes me feel like an outsider for struggling to understand why God allows such deep suffering on the part of some individuals, or why He often chooses to be silent.  The last lines of the song ("What if my greatest disappointments or the aching of this life/ Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can't satisfy/ What if trials of this life/ The rain, the storms, the hardest nights/ Are your mercies in disguise"), while not necessarily untrue, make me feel as though I'm being chastised by someone outside the suffering circle for not immediately recognizing the situation as one that is clearly meant to bring glory to God.  Frankly, I don't feel like the speaker of this song is in the trenches.  I feel like she's on the other side of the fence telling me to believe God's plan without understanding that's the very thing I'm (and others) are clawing to hold onto--belief.  (And it's a little simplistic anyway, isn't it?  "And long that we'd have faith to believe"--believe what, exactly?  The promises in His word?  In my case, believing those promises wasn't the issue.  Reconciling myself to the possibility of a different plan--one that didn't eliminate my desire or respond to it--was a bigger issue than believing God's promises.)

Maybe it's too much to ask for all song writers to sit in the ditch of lamentation and lay it out honestly the way Rich Mullins did with "Hard to Get."  I guess I just feel like it's my responsibility as a Christian to get real with you about suffering in the midst of belief--that it's not always about a lack of faith or a foundering belief system.  Sometimes we struggle because we believe.  Sometimes we hurt because we can't see the final picture even though we know there is one.  My problem isn't that I can't see suffering as God's "mercies in disguise"; it's that I know God and want to follow Him, but sometimes I have to acknowledge the reality that some things are just His "ways and [He is] just plain hard to get."

The Elusive Priority

One of my great gifts is an ability to make almost anything more difficult than it has to be.  So when I say Christianity is simplistic, that's from a purely intellectual standpoint.  Practice is more difficult--probably because I think far too much about how I should act and then end up acting viscerally instead of according to my belief (which, unfortunately, is not yet that ingrained).

 

This action (inaction?!) is a pattern.  It is one of the main reasons I started leading women's Bible study (for consistency in study and relationship) and likely the reason I need to eliminate outside influences (topix, anyone?) that may not impact other people.  When I miss that stead influence and allow those outside influences play time, I see a significant decline in my attitude and more paralysis in my Christian action.

 

So it stands to reason that I would know what to change when I feel that paralysis creeping up my neck, but, oddly, I don't.  I don't know what I am supposed to be doing despite the fact that I know I belong where I am.

 

A friend told me once that education shouldn't necessarily be a Christian priority.  That thought has been in the back of my mind this entire school year...

• because I believe education can have a beneficial effect on the masses
• because I want my sons to be able to reason through situations instead of simply swallowing someone else's lecture
• because my union is currently fighting a Tier Two salary schedule I fear will impact the type of education students at my school would receive.

 

Should these things be a priority for me?  I honestly don't know, and I don't see a lot of clear examples to illuminate the path.

 

That issue alone would be enough.  But it's rare any person gets to handle one situation at a time so I find myself, as I've said, in this bizarre "in between" place.

 

My word for the year is gratitude.  Like last year's word, "peace," gratitude should be a fairly easy concept to navigate.  After all, there is so much for which to be grateful--my little miracles, Ryan and Eli, in particular.  In the midst of all that baby excitement, though, are the situations that cloud that same sense of gratitude.

 

I'm not writing this because I have conclusions, but rather due to my lack of them.  That's what writing used to do for me--in the days before I started panicking that my kitchen was a mess and neurotically cleaning before bed.  Priorities, y'all.

 

But seriously, PRIORITIES...

• for Christian action
• for consistency in study (and maybe revisiting the idea of a study group?)
• for a balanced view of education

 

But mostly?  For gratitude--in all seasons.

 

And maybe for grace to navigate the in between until everything is a bit more clear.

 

(If you read, forgive the lack of clarity.  My pregnant brain struggles to put one coherent thought together, so it's precarious to write anything at the end of the day.)

The Vortex

I feel like any sort of return to blogging (if one post can, in fact, be considered a return) should be a magnificent spectacle of wondrousness.


Then there's my blog.


And unfortunately, that means no magnificence, just crazy.  Seriously, though, if people read here for any other reason they might be slightly more delusional than I am.  So there's that.


A second pregnancy with a small child at home is no joke.  Lack of a negotiated contract is no joke.  All of the stress and mud-slinging that comes out of those two things--seriously, no joke.


It's a weird way to start a year I think is supposed to be focused on gratitude.  I've asked myself a lot of questions about that word in the last two hours I've stared at this screen:


1.  Why doesn't gratitude undo the awfulness of the last year?
2.  Why doesn't gratitude alleviate the hurt of losing a close friend?  Or replace that friend?
3.  Why doesn't gratitude settle a contract or at least require understanding on all sides?


And then I've been pushed to the other side by all the simplicities that wash over me:


1.  Ryan's sweet laugh and smile
2.  The baby doing the mambo on my bladder
3.  Colleagues and coworkers who are still dedicated despite the climate


I don't know what I want out of 2014.  I'd like it to be the year I get my shit together, but I'm not entirely positive that's realistic.  Maybe chaos is the way of the world.  And maybe gratitude is our way of finding Christ's peace in the midst of the vortex.

Nostalgia: There Were People Who Made A Difference

Favorite says I never blog anymore.  I remind him we have offspring to care for and that takes a significant amount of time which pushes my housework and grading to the few hours after said offspring goes to sleep at night.  There's little time left for blogging.

But today I'm feeling nostalgic.  We recently lost our music minister, and I'm thinking back to the days when the girls and I would lead worship.  I grew up a lot in the ten years we shared that responsibility, and I learned even more about God, how He works and our perceptions of how He works.

We weren't openly accepted by all the congregants in our church.  It was just the three of us, so we were limited in what we could provide, and I would argue that a piano and three girls can only get so loud, but "too loud" or "not loud enough" were regular comments.  We heard a lot about song choices, because apparently the Apostle Paul and John the Baptist really only promote the Gaithers and the Wesley brothers.  Anything else was just this side of heresy.  People would comment if we closed our eyes, opened our eyes or sang a chorus one too many times no matter who was at the altar.  And introducing new stuff?  Those Sundays the devil himself must have inhabited our personalities.

But there were people who loved us through that ministry.  I learned so much from those people; in fact, I would venture to say those were the people who taught me what it is to serve others and love them openly.

I learned that even though music can be very polarizing, not everyone's response is the same.  Some sing along with the music.  Some simply sit and listen.  Some raise their hands.  Others stay in their seats and find themselves in the midst of quiet time with the Lord.

When we first started singing, I thought every quiet mouth was a loss.  At the end of those ten years, I realized that responses are as predictable as the weather in southern Illinois.  To relegate the worth of music to the responses it begets?  It's a narrow response to the reality of worship.

Of course, I showed up every Sunday wholeheartedly believing that there were SPECIFIC songs we HAD to sing.  If we failed to pick the right songs that Sunday, the Lord would withhold his Holy Spirit and no one would respond to the Lord's call on their lives.

Sad, isn't it?  God will only rain Himself on us if we say the magic words?  ("How great is our God?  Sing with me...")  But it was the mentality I held until I realized He responded to an attitude of worship and the hearts of those who came to meet Him.  (Actually, I partially knew that last part when we started the ministry.  Why I convinced myself of anything else is beyond explanation.)

Those are the things I miss in my worship pastor--not because they aren't present in the interim, but because I loved his heart for music.  He and his wife wholeheartedly devoted themselves to understanding worship, and I loved seeing that devotion play out on Sunday mornings.

Their current hire is a great place for them.  I'm sure there will be a lot of growth and they will look back, ten years or more from now, and see all the changes that have taken place over the course of their ministry.  But I want them to remember the people who loved them in the middle of the journey. 

Those were the people who made such a difference for me.

On Friendship

I miss her.  That's enough of a reminder that even the best of decisions come with negative consequences.

There were a lot of reasons we shouldn't have been compatible.  We're both loud and opinionated.  I was a bit of a recluse and she had no idea how to sit at home.  She was a runner (or at least a former runner).  I believed running would be best left to chase scenes in movies (and seriously reconsidered then).

But for a lot of reasons, she encouraged me to push beyond previously held boundaries.  She was just as excited to find out I was pregnant as my family was.  She called me after every.single.doctor's.appointment.  (Seriously.  How do you even keep on track of those things?)  And I'm pretty sure she wanted to snuggle Ryan as much as I did.

She had her faults.  (I probably have a few extras.)  Some people believed those faults were glaring enough to discount her, but for me?  She was the friend I needed when I needed one.  For some reason, I get the idea I fulfilled that role for her, too.  And that type of friendship is hard to overlook.  It demands a loyalty I can't and won't attempt to explain.

I never presumed her decisions would be easy, and I told her as much.  Even now, I think and rethink the boundaries that were set and try to determine how things could've been different.

But I miss her all the same.

Quick Reflections: James Week One Day Two

A note from my Bible study (I'm revisiting James:  Mercy Triumphs.  It's a study I never finished, but I sense the timeliness of it in my life now.  I'm making an honest effort to get into the Word daily.):

"The power of the resurrection trumps the power of the past if we're willing to let it...When, like a laser, the call of Christ sears a hole through your self-protectiveness, you go wherever He leads whether or not you feel like you fit" (Moore 21).

I wonder if I've spent too long asking God to put someone in a leadership position who is willing to push boundaries and challenge mediocrity when He's continually asking me to do that very thing.  I'm not a fan of leadership, because, like John Proctor in The Crucible, "God knows how black my sins are."  Those positions should be relegated to those who don't taint Christianity any more than it already has been throughout history.

But my heart...My heart keeps asking for something more than showing up, reciting and declaring.  How much am I really living my supposed ideals?  Moore, anticipating James' thoughts after Peter's imprisonment, states, "We may lose our heads, but we cannot lose our souls.  The stakes are up.  The fire is lit.  It's time to live like those who cannot die.  Welcome to the lives of those called Christians" (22--emphasis, Moore).  Those thoughts?  They make me wonder where my life is reflecting these ideals.

On Prayer: Asking the Questions

I've attended various versions of buy-from-home parties where I have increased my clothing accessories, slapped my monogram on various items and outfitted my kitchen for the culinary apocalypse.  Without fail, these sales ladies have employed one tactic to generate interest in their professional pursuits:  The Question Game.

I love the question game because I am essentially a four-year-old masquerading as a thirty-something woman.  I win every.single.time, and have a variety of spoils to show for my efforts. 

Really, though, it's not a skill I developed for those parties.  I just have a lot of questions. So when a pastor at my church starting asking congregants for questions about prayer, I thought, "The man has no idea what sort of Pandora's box he has opened." 

For me, prayer is a compulsory enigma.  I need it, but I understand very little about it.  For instance, does prayer change my heart?  Or does it change God's?  If the latter is true, under what conditions will God change His mind or is this a matter of waiting for the right time?  David interceded for his son, but that child was still lost due to sin.  But Abraham prayed on Lot's behalf and was granted his request (after what appears to be several rounds of negotiating) with no mention of sin or lack thereof in Lot's life. 

When, if ever, should I accept a "no" from God in prayer?  Do I continue to intercede for that want/need or do I call it a day and let it go?  We only see one instance of Jesus praying for his cup to pass while still relinquishing himself to God's will.  I wonder, though, if this wasn't the prayer of His life. 

But more than anything, I wonder why we seem to ignore the prayers of lament.

Throughout the Bible, I see examples of people simply crying out to God.  They aren't declaring how great He is.  They aren't asking for miracles or daily bread or even His kingdom.  They just want to know why.  Why do things happen when You are capable of stopping them.  Why is there so much grievous injury when you could heal it?  Why are there unfulfilled needs and empty pews and lifeless people?  Why, Lord?

Why do we as a church feel the need to answer these prayers?  To give a reason for God's permissiveness or His (seeming) lack of movement in some of these situations?  Why don't we allow him to be questioned in a way that really allows Him to be God?

To relegate these sorts of prayers to the closets of the individuals who pray them seems calloused and a far-reaching lack of knowledge about the types of prayer that exist in our own scripture.

Last year, I read Nichole Nordeman's book, Love Story.  In early July, before I even knew miracles could happen to me, I found myself stuck on the chapter about Job.  I was mesmerized that congregations could gather to collectively ask "Why, God?" without inserting the often expected "but." 

This form of crying out wasn't revolutionary to me.  I had done it in my living room.  On my bedroom floor.  In my bathtub.  In waiting rooms.  Exam rooms.  Classrooms.  On church pews and park benches.  Lament is what I did.  For a while, I'd venture to say it's who I was.

Maybe these types of prayers are meant to break our hearts open before the only One who really can deal with the unanswered questions.  I don't really know.  The only thing I really understood was the process of crying out.

What do these prayers demand of us?  What do they require of God?  What do they do for our hearts?  Or our relationship?  And my biggest question:  why don't we do more of it?  If these are the things modeled in scripture, the real-life scenarios we're facing, why don't we participate?

I wish I knew.