December and the Dreamers

The light came down 

Cast the darkness away 

He appeared 

A helpless child 

The light of God came to save us 

To the world that He made us 

O' Lord and Savior 

Alleluia 

-Josh Garrels, A Light Came Down

When Joseph woke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him: he took his wife but knew her not until she had given birth to a son. And he called his name Jesus. 

Matthew 1:24-25

Our Father who is in Heaven, 

It is a hard thing to quiet our hearts before you. Our hearts are loud and chaotic, as we come off a year of political strife and global unrest and terror, as we come off a year of personal failures and successes, as we come off a year of doubt and sorrow and weaknesses of all kinds. 

But every December, as Christmas stands bright and shining in the dark of this year, we still feel your draw of every heart, of every story, of every nation, even our tired and dusty selves. We can’t help but remember your First Advent into our sorry world, a helpless baby born to new parents. We can’t help but remember the curious manner of your First Coming, how angels announced you to both Mary and Joseph, how kings hunted you, how wise men from foreign countries sought you, how everything fell into place by unseen hands to fulfill the prophecies and promises of an Almighty Father to His longing people. 

This year, we remember the dreamers, the seekers in this story of your birth. In our world, there is no room at the inn for dreamers either. The dreamers are told to come back with an action plan, to forget their foolish dreams, roll up their selves and get to work. But just as you chose to come in the ultimate weakness of humanity, a fragile baby, you chose to work in the twilight world of human dreams to protect the Savior of all people. Joseph, the human father of Jesus, the father you chose to keep the Messiah safe from harm was such a dreamer. After weighing his human options, he chose to not put his pregnant fiancee to shame and just divorce her without fuss or mess. But in sleep, in fragile dreams, you sent him a message, and thank God, he remembered when he awoke. Thank God he didn’t dismiss it as something he ate the night before, or the result of emotions and decisions running high. Thank God you transformed his dreams into something more concrete and real than the normal run-of-the-mill dreams we shake from our minds as we wake. 

And so as we remember Joseph, the Dreamer and the human Father of God-with-Us, we ask that you would turn us into dreamers too. We ask that you would shake us from our petty dreams, our daily desires, our worldly cares, our unbelieving hearts. We ask that you would transform our dreams into realities, our fears into faith. Give us the vision of Joseph for ourselves and our world. Prepare our hearts for your coming, whether you come to us in dreams or in daylight, in solitude or in community. Be our strength, be our peace as we seek you, as we dream after you and your kingdom. Give us dreams to change our world, as you gave Joseph dreams, as you gave the wise men dreams. Give us calm hearts to hear your gentle voice to us this Christmas, as we turn our hearts toward you, as you turned your hearts toward us and the whole of humanity. As we lift our faces to you in both the ashes of this year and the promises of your birth, whisper to us of resurrection and transformation and and an everlasting hope. Amen. 

Seeking peace and joy. 

An empty peanut butter jar makes a good vase, of course. 

Lights shining in the darkness. 

Wish. 

The beauty of the water and the shore never ceases to amaze.

Earth and sky meet. 

Obligatory coffee cup shot. 

When You Have to Start Over...Again

You gotta keep your heart young

Don't go growin' old before your time has come

You can't take back what you have done

You gotta keep your heart young

-Brandi Carlile, Keep Your Heart Young

“…do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be known to God.  And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.” 

-The Apostle Paul, Philippians 4:6-7

Sometimes you have to start not only where you are, but where you have been. 

I found this the other day when I decided to ATTEMPT some stretching after my afternoon walk. Which is also an ATTEMPT at getting back into some sort of exercise routine. Last month, I was so sick and stressed that I completely fell off my beloved exercise wagon. Now that I’m trying to break my way back in, I’m realizing that while it’s frustrating for anyone who is trying to get into any kind of shape to take two steps forward and one step back, for someone who is only recently enthusiastic about exercise and has fibromyalgia, it feels like two steps forward and 37 steps back. So the point for me this week is just TO MOVE. Just a little to remind my body that YES YOU CAN DO THIS. BECAUSE YOU’VE DONE IT BEFORE. 

While stretching and feeling the BURN, I thought to myself that sometimes you just have to start where you’ve already been. And that’s ok. As a recovering perfectionist, it’d be soooooo easy for me to focus on where I’ve been and that TODAY it just feels like I really SUCK AT THIS and my body will NEVER EVER get back to what it was. But you can only begin where you are at, which sounds dumb and like a lame Pinterest quote, but it is true when attempting anything new or forgotten. This goes for all kinds of things, of course. Like getting back into reading the Bible on a regular basis or eating well on a regular basis or going to bed at a decent time on a regular basis or keeping up with friends on a regular basis. 

I am the worst at anything on a regular basis. Well, when it comes to incorporating positive habits in my life. I can go for days before realizing, “Oh, I should exercise today! I should pull on some shoes and get my backside OUTSIDE.” I can go for days before realizing, “Oh, I should eat something other than leftover carrot cake for every meal!” I will happily get stuck in ruts of not going to bed before midnight before realizing that I should at least TRY to get ready for bed earlier. 

What I AM good at on a regular basis is overthinking and sabotaging my own thought life. SO GOOD AT THIS, YOU GUYS. I will inwardly berate myself for my lack of progress in ALL THE PARTS OF LIFE until I am completely cut off from any positive movement in any direction. So this is why I need the reminder that even I get to start wherever I’m at, even if I’ve been there a million times before. And that’s ok, because we all have to get back up after we get knocked down. We all have to start over. We all get to do things over again. And, as they say, practice makes perfect. Even if perfect isn't quite what we had in mind after all. 

One of the best things about having a chronic illness is that you get to let go of perfect. If you’re like me, this happened while being dragged kicking and screaming. And I still struggle with wanting to do EVERYTHING THE BEST and BEING ABLE TO DO IT ALL MYSELF. I always will, BUT the last couple years of being able to accept my weaknesses and focus on what I can do and can give have been REVOLUTIONARY. There’s such a freedom in letting myself off all the impossible hooks that I was on. When this happened, verses like Philippians 4:6-7 make so much more sense—I HAVE to ask God for help for EVERYTHING. Verses like John 15: 5 where Jesus says we canNOT do anything apart from Him and being continually with Him are so much more real to me now. Chapters like Isaiah 41 where God calls Himself our Helper over and over again mean the world to me more than ever before. Because I can’t help myself. I can’t just wish myself out of my weakness. I get to reach out and ask for help from the One who longs to be my Helper in all things. And He does. He always helps. It may not be in ways I wanted or thought of, but He always provides what I need. And if God Himself doesn’t expect me to do it all on my own, why would I expect the impossible from myself? 

So lately, I have been hearing the call to lay down my impossible expectations and lay down my obsession with all things perfect. I want to give up perfect. I want to stop mourning my past progresses and accomplishments so much, and focus more on what I can do in spite of my limitations. I want to listen to my mind and my body and my heart, and pace myself accordingly. I want to be ready to give grace to my weak places, and in turn, be always at the ready to do the same for others. I am ready to celebrate the smallest of victories, the most minuscule of mustered efforts. When I am already in this mindset, I am more ready to tell you about your victories, too. That you probably didn’t see before, because it’s very uncommon to throw on a party hat for meeting little goals or accomplishments. But in this way, we can all bridge the otherwise looming gap between what the lies we believe about ourselves and what we truly are: more than conquerers in Christ Jesus, people who know that love is our banner and our mission and our foundation. Let’s build each other up, pointing out small successes and happy happenstances. Let’s strive to be more like Christ toward each other, who does not expect the impossible from us, but only what He’s given us to give and to be. 

The water, always the water. 

My beloved Pacific Northwest beaches. 

Autumn skies and wind in the trees. 

Those heavens declaring the glory of our God. 

Coffeeeeeeeeee PICTURE! 

Not Benched: How Affliction Keeps Us in the Race

Why do you let me stay here

All by myself?

Why don't you come and play here?

I'm just sitting on the shelf

-She & Him, Why Do You Let Me Stay Here?

And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you. To him be the dominion forever and ever. Amen. 

-1 Peter 5:10-11

Benched. Shelved. Back seat. Hung up to dry. 

That’s how I feel a great deal of the time, what with one thing and another in life. Sometimes the chronic pain means I get to be fashionably late to my own day. Sometimes I make my coffee and toast and stumble back to bed, where I make a to-do list of what I’m going to do precisely when I can get up and get moving.

Being physically in pain every day makes me feel shelved in many ways. Paying attention to my body and attempting to pace myself means I have to be STUPID CAREFUL with my time and energy, which means saying no to lots of things, including good things. That’s just plain annoying. Needing to ask for help in household chores and shopping makes me feel pretty incapable sometimes, and I don’t like that at all. 

However, I think the biggest way that I feel BENCHED IN LIFE is the very dangerous and very real game of comparison. And man, is it KILLER. Some days, on the ones where I feel physically low already, it starts to feel like EVERYONE ELSE is out doing SOMETHING IMPORTANT. Something MEANINGFUL. Everyone else is OUT THERE. They are in it, they are running their races, they are getting AFTER IT. And here I am, waiting to get out of bed so I can shower when most people are probably on their lunch breaks. 

The truth of it is, of course, the Everyone Else I refer to in my head probably doesn’t feel like he or she is out there killing it. Everyone Else is struggling with something. I don’t know one single person in my life right now who ISN’T going through some kind of major difficulty, trying to sort out life’s cruel curveballs, trying to just do the best they can with what they have. Married, single, employed, unemployed, homeowner, renter, 20s, 30s, 40s, 80s. We all have something, don’t we? Something that makes us feel like we’re just watching life go by. The really good, juicy, happy parts of life. We all feel limited and stuck and weak sometimes, or maybe most of the time. And it makes sense that Everyone Else’s life starts to look a little better, a little easier, a little happier. 

Even with all this, affliction is not a word our culture uses very often, is it? We use words and phrases like stress, unfulfillment, need-more-self-care, going-through-a-hard-time-right-now, case-of-the-Mondays. I think we all tend to downplay our real sorrows, our real hardships, whether they’re physical, emotional, mental, or related to whatever life stages we find ourselves in. We are all very polite about our sorrows, because burdening each other or appearing weak or not in charge of our destinies is admitting that WE DON’T HAVE IT ALL TOGETHER. And that seems to be one of the worst indecencies we can commit in the Western 21st century. 

The Bible, however, was written in a time where people were brutally honest about their sorrows, like almost TOO honest for our Western ears. They called them what they were. Suffering. Affliction. Deep sorrows. Great troubles. I feel like honesty is a bit of a buzzword in our society these days, as though it’s some kind of magic incantation: if we can somehow be HONEST, our troubles will shrink and everyone will understand us if we can just be TRANSPARENT IN COMMUNITY. But what the honesty of the writers of the First and New Testaments does is lay a foundation for their relationship with God first of all. The Psalmists pour out their hearts and sorrows and sufferings before God Himself—they tell the truth about their sorrows. Beginning with their suffering allows them to move on to asking for help, to remembering God’s power and presence and love, to truly being dependent on their Creator and Redeemer. And this is a lesson I so desperately need to learn as a post-modern-living follower of Jesus. 

Of course, Jesus Himself tells us not to be surprised by our afflictions; as a matter of fact, he PROMISED SUFFERING. He promised the world would hate those who follow Him. But He promised then, as God promised all throughout the First Testament, that He would be with us, that He would be our Helper. He would be with His people, and His presence is truly enough. His nearness is what sustains us, from the beginning of the creation all the way to the 21st century.

When I read the Bible or talk with other Christians who have troubles, I slowly start to realize that having afflictions, having limitations, having weaknesses, having hang-ups, is not an automatic benching. Our troubles don’t strike our names from running the race. I’m still in it, with my chronic pain. You’re still in it, no matter what you’re facing. God still has things for us to do and to be—they probably just look really different from what we had in mind. They will be different because we will need His help and presence to do them. In our many weaknesses, we must abide in Him, if we want to do any thing at all (John 15). We are, as the Apostle Paul says in his second letter to the Corinthian church, afflicted but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted but not destroyed; always carrying around in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies (2 Corinthians 4: 8-10). This is a great mystery, and one that I don’t fully understand, but as His followers, we somehow get to participate in the great life of Jesus Himself through our sufferings. He uses us in our limitations and it’s a beautiful and glorious thing to see His love and power at work in ways we couldn’t have imagined. 

Leaves and walking shoes: glorious. 

Nature: good for what ails. 

Beauty. 

Celebration of a Modern Marriage

Like the Dead Sea

You told me I was like the Dead Sea

You'll never sink when you are with me

Oh Lord, like the Dead Sea

Whoa, I'm like the Dead Sea

The finest words you ever said to me

Honey can't you see,

I was born to be, be your Dead Sea

-The Lumineers, Dead Sea

So if there is any encouragement in Christ, any comfort from love, any participation from the Spirit, any affection and sympathy, complete my joy by being of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. Do nothing from rivalry or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his interests but also to the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus…

-The Apostle Paul, Phillipians 2:1-5

Part 1

Husbands often get a bad rap, don’t they? Sitcoms tend to portray husbands as oafish and selfish, like Homer Simpson or Kevin James. Columbo may very well be the only TV detective EVER with a happy home life (although I HAVE JUST ONE MORE QUESTION FOR YOU: how do we know that his often-talked-about-but-never-seen wife even exists?). Guys who save the world usually are single or divorced—I’m looking at you, John McClane. Romantic comedies are either about getting the guy or how to cope after you’ve got yourself an actual husband. And let’s not get started on real life marriages, where it’s cool to complain or ridicule one’s husband in public, or at the very least, nurse secret frustrations in private. Sometimes it starts to feel like if you aren’t complaining, you’re not being real about how hard it is to be married to the Modern Man. 

Facebook official.

Just happy.

I am married to a Modern Man myself, and let me tell you, it has surpassed all my wildest expectations, both in bliss and difficulty. I don’t know about you, but I was pretty prepared for marriage to be difficult—after all, that’s what you’re told from your teens onward. When hormones start fizzing and boys start to look like maybe they don’t have cooties after all, that’s when all the kissing dating goodbye and marriage is no picnic talks begin. But this, coupled with multiple heartfelt viewings of Pride and Prejudice (because Colin Firth) and Little Women (because young Christian Bale) and Star Wars (because Harrison Ford) and Indiana Jones (because Harrison Ford), all amounts to a confusing mental picture of what love and romance and marriage should be. What both Christian and secular cultures can agree on, however, is that marriage is hard. And yet still worth pursuing. We all love a good love story: a friendship, relationship, and commitment that is strong, beautiful, romantic, and unbreakable. And we all know, both from stories and from real life, that love and marriage have to go through hard times, because real life happens to the best (i.e. all) of us. 

So while I was prepared for marriage to be hard, I was not prepared for exactly how it would be hard. I knew I was a selfish person, but I really had no idea till after January 22nd, 2011. There were the small and funny and irritating and classic discoveries of “you fold the towels THAT way?” and “why are you making scrambled eggs THAT way?” When we tell other couples this, most of them respond with YES US TOO, which I find to be both hilarious and relieving. Towels and their foldings are a big deal, my friends. As time goes by, however, deep-seated selfish behaviors and attitudes rise to the surface, and I find myself time and time again putting myself first, or even worse, sometimes seeing my husband as the Enemy of my All Important Happiness. Over stupid things, of course, like figuring out the hard way we have to plan our leisure time a little more or trying to decide how much to spend on Christmas presents. It is true that it’s the little things that can have the biggest impact, whether it’s a continuous drop of water on stone or choosing my attitude about THAT thing which is now a BIG thing. 

Yes, yes, yes!

MARRIAGE IS NO PICNIC, YOU GUYS. 

Lest you think it’s all been a vale of tears and gnashing of teeth, let me assure you that I wasn’t prepared for marriage to be better than all my dreams of what it could be. I am so thankful and aware of the blessing of marrying my best friend, and of reaping the rewards of choosing each other every day. There’s been various learning curves, of course, and seasons of figuring out the kinds of conflict that bombard every married couple. But after nearly six years, we’re still madly in love and ask ourselves frequently how did we get to marry THIS person? 

Part 2

This has been a long preamble (and points to you for making it thus far!) to what I really want to say here, and that’s how my husband, whom I regard as the Husband of Husbands, is the king of men. While Ben isn’t a perfect man, as he still has morning breath, still doesn’t think MacGyver is the best show of all time, and still doesn’t drink coffee, he is perfect for me. He loves my random brain, my quirky humor, and knows the difference between my polite laugh and my real laugh. I can tell when he’s tired before he does (he gets really literal), and I love the way he thinks through things, and how perceptive he is. 

Another thing that makes Ben perfect for me is that he’s taken “in sickness and in health” to the next level. Our entire romantic relationship, from dating to engagement to wedding day to now, has been marked by illness. And while it’s made things crazy, it’s never shaken our anchored romance. When we were dating six years ago, I discovered black mold in my apartment, unleashing a series of very unfortunate events. I’ve always caught colds and flus easily, but all of a sudden, I could not bounce back very quickly. Over the next few years, it started to feel like having the flu all the time—deep body aches and mind-numbing fatigue that didn’t go away with a full night’s sleep. 

Three years ago, I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia, a mysterious chronic pain and fatigue condition. Last year, I was diagnosed with IBS (Irritable Bowl Syndrome, which needs no explanation, amiright?) and endometriosis, a reproductive system disorder where the endometrial tissue grows in places it shouldn’t, causing scarring and pain and a host of other issues. These titles, or even badges of honor as I see them in my mind’s eye, carry no weight as to how long and hard and discouraging and confusing my physical journey has been these last six years. And not just for me. But for my husband too.  

Glorious day.

Finally and at last.

Ben has all the finest characteristics you’d ever want in a man: protective and kind and caring and intelligent and hilarious and wanting to provide everything in his power for his family and friends. He also has great taste in music and movies, which is key. His first inclinations at the first signs of my illness were, I’m sure, to smash them all with his might and force of willpower. Also, to bring me snacks, hand me the remote, and rub my feet. But mostly to smash my sicknesses for me, and help me back to normal. We’ve put our heads together and have tried so many things, from new doctors to new medication to new exercise routines to elimination diets to quitting jobs. He does everything he can to relieve stress in our lives, by budgeting and paying bills and cleaning all the hard and annoying things (like tubs and toilets) and making sure I see friends and family enough in this season while I’m not working. He even carries me to the bathroom or to the couch when I can’t move. What I’m trying to say is there’s nothing Ben won’t do for me, for my health and comfort. I know that even if I wasn’t mysteriously sick, he would do all these things anyway. 

The thing that catches me in my throat, in my heart, is when Ben is visibly upset for me and my illness and what it’s done to us. This doesn’t happen very often, because Ben is a careful steward of his emotions and energy, especially towards me, but when it does, it nearly undoes me. He’s not even upset for himself, and all the trouble this situation makes for him. He’s upset for me, upset by my lost dreams, my lost wellness. All he wants is for me to feel better, to feel whole again. But what Ben has become very good at over the last six years is mourning with those who mourn, and what I’ve discovered that means is to simply be with the one who mourns. To do what we can for those in our lives who are sad and grieving and in pain and when we can’t do anymore, because pain is confusing and often unrelenting no matter our human efforts, to simply be present and ready. And to pray, always pray. 

Ben has shown me over the past six years that honest and stubborn prayer is the truest kind of  prayer. When he prays, it’s brutally honest and transparent, full of questions and requests and pleas and cries for help. He has never once given up on God and His love and power in our lives, even though we both have offered up angry and confused and muddled prayers time and time again. Because of Ben, I keep praying and asking and hoping and knocking on God’s door. Because Ben has not given up on prayer or Jesus or the hope of healing, I haven’t either. Because Ben has proven himself to be my helper day after day, crisis after crisis, I know that God is real and true. Who else could sustain a marriage marked by chronic illness, a relationship already preloaded with worldly strain and human frailty? Who else could cause and allow a marriage to flourish and grow in spite—or even because of—of mysterious chronic pain?

The thing is, I don’t know why we’re going this particular struggle. I do know that it is pushing our natural pride and independence out of the way. It’s been a study in giving up our pride and know-how, and depending more and more on our good God and our friends and family for help. When I look back at the lovely and difficult and happy and sorrowful six years of being with Ben, I am amazed and overwhelmed at the goodness of God more than anything. To note and thank Him for His provision of a truly wonderful husband, without whom I can’t imagine life itself. To thank Him for this most unusual and deep love story of our own, for always providing help and light and hope even when it seemed like morning would never come. 

Better together.

We take each other on walks and rest when we (ok, I) need to.

So here’s to the quiet heroes, the patient warriors, the unsung champions. To the men who stay with their wives when it’s hard, ask how to help, and pass the chocolate. To the men who see their wives as beautiful even on a bad day, with no make-up and hair every which way (and definitely all over the bathroom floor). To the men who show love by fixing things, by bringing flowers from the grocery store, and by going to the outlet mall on the weekends. To the men who treat all women as precious sisters, offering protection and the male perspective if needed. To the men who go to work day in and day out, never thinking twice if it’s worth it to provide for their families. To the men who use their strength for good, their might for helping others. To the men who encourage their wives to follow after God in all the ways He made them, whether at work or at home or in community or in skills and talents. To the men who keep dreaming of big things, and who keep trusting God for provision and help. And most of all, here’s to my Modern Hero, who is the funniest and most handsome champion a wife could marry. 

Bad Grown-Up; Still Awesome

“No, stars are for achievement. My 40th cigarette of the afternoon. THAT deserves a star.”

—Bernard Black, Black Books

Having gifts that differ according to the grace given to us, let us use them: if prophecy, in proportion to our faith; if service, in our serving; the one who teaches, in his teaching; the one who exhorts, in his exhortation; the one who contributes, in generosity; the one who leads, with zeal; the one who does acts of mercy, with cheerfulness. 

—The Apostle Paul, Romans 12:6-8

I am not a very good grown-up. 

Really. 

Except for the other day.

I went to the insurance office and sat there for OVER TWO HOURS. It was worth it, because now we are saving BOOKOO BUCKS, but afterwards I had to buy cookies and stress-eat an entire sleeve. I mean, I didn’t have a choice, really. DON’T WORRY, THEY WERE GLUTEN-FREE. And delicious. And I harbor no regrets. 

It’s weird how certain things make one feel like an adult. ADULT THINGS. Meeting or calling about ALL the insurance. Renewing tabs ON TIME and remembering to attach them ON TIME. Going to the post office or the bank. Making chicken stock from scratch. Calling customer service.  Making appointments. Filing paperwork. Returning ANYTHING. Scrubbing out the tub. Making a menu plan (that I hardly ever stick to). Using the paper shredder. Remembering to get something out of the freezer ahead of time. And probably the biggest one of all….USING THE CROCKPOT. 

Please tell me I’m not the only one who feels the need for a Well-Done-You-Reward for doing these things? I mean, except the crockpot. That’s its own reward. Obviously. 

The sad thing is none of these activities will do themselves, and as my friends and I often lament, there is STILL no butler, chef, personal secretary, or maid on the premises. I mean, it’s weird. So I have to use the Reward System for myself, like I’m some kind of Toddler Who Would be Bribed. Thankfully, for our budget and my more-form-fitting clothes, it’s not ALWAYS cookies (although that would be ideal). It’s usually in the form of watching House Hunters or another episode of Morse or Poirot (VINTAGE AND CLASSY TASTE ALERT) while I fold laundry. Or a hot bath after sorting and filing mounds of paper. Or a piece of chocolate for dusting and vacuuming. You get the idea. 

When I look at that above list of what I consider Adult Things, it strikes me that they are all filed under Administrative or Household Maintenance. And it makes sense why I don’t want to do any of them. Because…boring. I would much rather sit on my porch with all my flowers or curl up with a book because WOULDN’T ALL OF US. This doesn’t mean we’re lazy or anything. It just means we’d all rather be spending our time and energy doing what we love. I just started reading Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons (insert: HILARIOUS) and came across this line, and it struck me that I AM THIS HEROINE: 

“... on the whole I thought I liked having everything very tidy and calm all around me, and not being bothered to do things, and laughing at the kind of joke other people didn't think at all funny, and going for country walks, and not being asked to express opinions about things (like love, and isn't so-and-so peculiar?)” (Cold Comfort Farm).

Thank you, fictional Flora Poste. BRILLIANT. I like tidiness, although I can never fully achieve it. I adore calmness, because I’m an introvert with fibromyalgia. I love not having anything pressing to do, so I can putter and patter about, taking my time with things. I always end up laughing at weird things, to the point where people have told me they don’t understand my sense of humor but they love me anyway (whew). I love walking now! Like, it’s a major THING. I feel like a crazy person without it. And please don’t make me talk about really important things on the spot. Please give me a head’s up a few days before or allow me to submit thoughts in writing. Hahaha, if only that were possible. AM I RIGHT. 

But what is the point of all this rambling, albeit surely fascinating, introspection? Besides telling you that I need little incentives to do chores (LIKE I’M THE ONLY ONE)? 

We need to know ourselves. We need to know what makes us tick, what gives us motivation to do things. Not just for silly things like doing the dishes or calling the insurance company, but for our whole lives. I think in our world of social media where we can present only the image we want, where knowing the lingo and exceeding expectations is everything, it’s easy to lose who we really are, even to ourselves. I still think we should all be careful about what we put online, of course, but this mindset contributes to being too concerned with image. I find myself always and constantly editing myself, even in person. Whether it’s about how I’m doing, how life is, what I’ve been up to, what my plans and goals are for the future. Part of this is being a perfectionist, part of this is pride, but I think we’ve all been trained to Be Careful about how we present ourselves to the world at large. In a world where we judge others by what they share on Facebook or on Pinterest, (you know it’s true), how can we not be concerned with our image or try to hack ourselves down into a socially acceptable version? 

I know I don't feel like I fit society’s norms of what a female in her early 30s “should” be. AKA a “grown-up.” With a career. With 2.5 kids. With LIFE FIGURED OUT. Or at least this week’s meals planned out (What’s today, anyway?). The thing is, though, NO ONE has it figured out. We are ALL taking it step by step, day by day, and even if you are one of those immortal beings with a five-year-plan or an immaculate house (God bless you, you mysterious creature!), there are detours and stop signs and wrong turns for all of us. Just because life is confusing and messy, or you might be struggling with certain things, like illness, financial difficulty, relational stress, direction in life, depression, anxiety, weight or acne or other appearance-related things, you still count. You are still you, and you are worthy to still live your precious life. You are still amazing and strong in spite of the struggles. 

If we can learn how to give ourselves a break about expectations and allow ourselves to be who we are in all our messy and beautiful glory, what a wonderful world this would be, to quote the incomparable Mr. Armstrong. If we can learn to not censor ourselves so much, if we can embrace our own quirks and personalities, if we can take the time to get to know ourselves again, we will learn what it means to be fully ourselves. And it will be amazing. Because we all have gifts and talents and skills that are not valued much by society, like hospitality, making others laugh, seeing beauty everywhere, picking out gifts for people, making a killer cinnamon roll, gardening, leading well, serving others in grace, or even roller-blading or playing hockey or knitting or landscaping. These kinds of things make life full and meaningful and interesting. 

And when we can accept that we are each individuals, not fitting into tight molds made by others, we will help those around us in the same way. It’s an paradoxical thing that we can’t be our best selves alone-we need others. In the same way that I am more myself being married to Ben, we all have the influence to bring out the best in others. We can inspire those around us to embrace who they are, who God made them to be, to grow into the person they were meant to be. In this way, we will build up the church and the world. In this way, each one knowing who they are and what gifts God has given them, we can bring God’s kingdom to earth. In this way, we can show the world who Jesus really is—the One who transforms us, who loves us, who cares for us, who made us to be His own. When we love each other without condition, when we care for them, when we encourage each other to grow in Him, we present a beautiful picture of Jesus. Let’s help each other shine brightly, in all the mystery and beauty and freedom of individuality. 

Judge not a book by its creepy cover. 

Had to bring some of the beauty indoors. 

Bright colors!

I had to get some new flowers! BE STILL MY HEART. 

For the Waiting Ones-a Prayer

God, we are waiting. 

Waiting for so many things, waiting for your guidance and clarity. We don’t want to make a move without your presence going before us. We know that you are indeed with us always, as you promised, but we don’t want to make decisions on our own strength and in our own understanding. We acknowledge that waiting is often part of your plan for us, part of the way in which you are disciplining us and molding us in love. Even though we don’t know why we are waiting, we trust that you are with us in it. We know that you do not leave us alone, for that would be truly more than we could bear. 

Thank you for shielding us from things even unknown to us, for always working behind the scenes in ways we can’t begin to understand. Help us to remember your great power, your great sovereign command of the universe and of our own lives. We acknowledge you as the Great I Am, the First and the Last, the Alpha and the Omega. You stand in all power outside of time and space. You hold us all together, protecting us and caring for us in all things. Help us shed the lies that peace lies in certainty, in circumstances, in getting the things we want, in getting our life in some kind of order. You are our Peace. 

Breathe on us, heal our hearts. Give us the faith we need to keep on trusting you, to keep looking at you when everything else is in shadow. Remind us to make time for you, to read your Word, and to listen to what you have to say to us. Remind us that you always show up in our listening. Your word says that it is good for one to wait for the salvation of the Lord. We trust that you will yourself be our sustenance while we wait, that you will be our manna in the desert places of our lives. We give you these dry spaces, trusting that you will transform them and use them for your glory and our good. Give us true patience, to trust you even if and when things might not change. You yourself are our great Treasure, our great Portion. Enlarge our hearts and minds to receive you as our peace and our King. 

Amen. 

Beauty always grows in stark spots, the rusty and wild places. 

Embracing Being Enough

If you cannot think of anything appropriate to say, you will please restrict your remarks to the weather. 

Mrs. Dashwood, Sense and Sensibility

Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day approaching. 

Hebrews 10:23-25

The other day, I stumbled my way out to my bedecked porch (see previous post obsessing over flowers) with coffee and breakfast in hand. I sat in the morning sun for the first time in a while, as the weather here as been up to its old slight-of-hand tricks. Sunny? Yes, but ALSO rainy! Seriously, last week, I sat in the sun after an afternoon walk, and lo and behold, there were RAINDROPS hitting the tree next to the porch. My poor brain can’t handle the sun AND the rain at the same time. It’s too much. And when I say it’s too much to handle, I also mean that it seems to be too much for the fibro body. Weather changes make it go haywire, and when you have multiple weather changes in a DAY, it goes into system overload. Anyway, FIBRO WEATHER RANT OVER. 

What I really mean to say is that while I was consuming the ol’ iced latte with half-open eyes and a sleepy brain, I saw a beautiful sight across the way. There’s a medical complex across the street, and THERE’S ALWAYS SOMETHING HAPPENING. Today, there were three women surrounding another woman with a walker, while she moved slowly around the parking lot. I believe there is a physical therapist’s office over yonder, and I am guessing that one of the women was the physical therapist. I thought it was wonderful for the woman with the walker to be accompanied not just by her medical provider, but also by two other women, maybe friends or relatives. I can’t help but imagine her story. Maybe this is the first time in a long time she can walk around by herself in the sunshine. Maybe this is after weeks or months of slow and intentional work in the physical therapist’s office, and working at home on what seemed like small or stupid exercises. Maybe she has had to keep going even though weeks of what seemed like no improvement. What struck me the most was that she was not alone. She had two friends obviously invested in her well-being, who cared enough to give up a morning to go to a medical appointment and walk around at her pace and ability. 

I recently read the book With by Skye Janthani, and it’s still resounding deeply in my mind. It centers around the theological idea that what God wants most from us is to be with us, that the relationship itself is more important than what He gets from us or what we want from Him. It’s a revolutionary idea in light of our productivity-centered culture, especially when it comes to faith and religion and living out those truths. It stuck me today watching the women walk all together that when we are with each other, we are acting on Christ’s behalf to each other. We become His hands and feet when we choose to simply be with others. This is one of the most beautiful ways we show the world who He is. We may not know exactly what to say or what not to say to others, especially if they are in pain or suffering or in deep grief, but we can simply sit with others. Or walk with them, as the women across the street did this morning. 

As believers in Jesus, we are called to follow His very example, called to become more and more like Him. In John 13, we are given a picture of what this looks like. Jesus washed His disciples’ feet like the most common of servants. Feet get a bad rap at the best of times, and in ancient cultures, washing feet was among the lowest of tasks. Obviously walking everywhere was the main form of transportation, so one can only imagine the state of feet back then. For Peter, the most impetuous and impulsive of the disciples, this was too much. He believed Jesus was the Messiah, the One to set His people free from tyranny, and this was insane behavior from the Savior of Israel. Imagine if President Obama or Queen Elizabeth or even your pastor or professor or boss washed your feet. And you haven’t had a pedicure for a while. And you didn’t wear socks with your flats all day. I mean, seriously. It would have been embarrassing. But Jesus makes it clear what he’s up to when He says,

You call me Lord and Teacher, and you are right, for so I am. If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have given you an example, that you also should do just as I have to you. Truly, truly, I say to you, a servant is not greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him (John 13:13-16).

Jesus shows us what it looks like to really be with others—we become servants to all, we look out for others, we provide relief and refreshment, a place for others to truly be themselves. 

Maybe we don’t think of ourselves as ideal hosts or counselor-types or competent to offer what others need. Maybe we feel awkward or at a loss for words. We have to remember that we will never feel perfectly ready to fully be with people. There will always be an excuse or a reason to not offer what we have to others, sometimes very good reasons! However, the ability to be with people, along with any other spiritual gifts or resources, comes from Jesus. He is the One who takes what we have and makes it enough, like the miracles of the loaves and fishes. All He asks is that we show up and plunk ourselves next to His people, His children, the happy and the sad. The apostle Paul says in his letter to the Romans to rejoice with the rejoicing and to mourn with the mourning (Romans 12:15). When we do this, we will find ourselves in the middle of miracles. Because we can do anything, face any struggle, celebrate fully when we know we are not alone. We can take more steps forward, like the woman across the street, when in the company of friends. This is love. This is bringing the kingdom of God in the middle of our daily grind. Jesus promised that the world would know we are His when we love each other. In our busy, productive, networking world, we can practice being present with those around us. We can trust that He will also be present, that He will be completely with us, that He will make something beautiful of our small gifts of time and love and words. 

BLOOMS! GREENERY! SUNSHINE!

Truth and grace. 

SO.MUCH.PINK.

The view above the kitchen sink. 

Learning how to have people over when things aren't PERFECT. It's a THING.