on leaving our cell phones at home

I have a love/hate relationship with my mobile device. Since I was a teenager, I’ve owned a cell phone. And no, not because my parents gave way and gave me everything I wanted, but because my dad is always ahead of the times, and dropped his landline in 1999. The next year, after he grew tired of his daughter using his personal phone to call her twenty-five eighth-grade friends, he bought us cell phones.

And I haven’t used a landline since. (Pause for dramatic effect.)

While I feel very grateful for this, and am by no means wishing I grew up in a log cabin, I also feel the tiring effects of being hyper-connected. All I’ve known is connectivity and constant availability, as I’m sure many my age feel the same. I’m available all the time because I always have my phone, and if I don’t respond to texts, something is surely wrong. When in reality, sometimes I just leave it at home, because I want to go somewhere and be physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually present. Let’s face it, I’m a spaz on my own; I don’t need the help of technology.

So if you’ve texted me lately and I haven’t responded until the next day, it’s because I’ve started turning my phone off before I go to bed. Or if you called me a few nights ago and I didn’t call you back until the next day (or the day after…), it’s because I left my phone in the car before I went into our friends’ house, so that I could just focus on the people I was with instead of checking my phone/email/texts/instagram/Facebook/Twitter/etc. every hour making sure no one desperately needs me (as if I am that important).

I think all of us could learn a bit from disconnecting. Not in an extreme, “I’M NEVER GOING TO BE ON FACEBOOK AGAIN!” type way. But in a, “You know what? I need to make steps to be more present with the people I’m actually sitting with,” way. What about you? Do you feel hyper-connected? Have you taken steps to disconnect from technology to be more present with the people in your day-to-day life? What have you found that works? What doesn’t work? 

when life looks like a carousel

Lately, our life resembles a lot more of a carousel than an open field of green grass. People hopping on and off, putting in their time and asking for a better turn, more excitement, less noise, and we open our hands and say, “Look, we have nothing left.” 

I am finding more and more relief in admitting that sometimes, I have nothing left to give. Not because I’m done, or burned out, but because I’m simply dried up, and I just need some quiet. Not because I don’t like you, or don’t want to spend time with you, or don’t have anything to give to you . . . but because I need some time to process all that’s happening around me, and without processing, let’s be honest–I’m going to fake my way through these conversations. And if there is one thing my soul gets the most angry about, it’s when I’m being fake.

So today I am breathing, asking God to fill me back up with peace, love, grace, understanding, and patience. . . in place of judgment, annoyance, tiredness, emptiness, and fear. And although I know the green grass is a long way off–I’m looking at it, from this carousel, knowing that in small moments I can hop off, soak in the air, and then hop back on.

a very large dose of nostalgia

Each one of us, if we’re paying attention, have smells and sights that bring us right back to a specific place. It sneaks up suddenly, with little-to-no warning, and ushers in a rush of emotions almost too big for the heart to take. This past Saturday, the Children’s Museum did that to me.

We got to join my in-laws and niece for her first birthday, and having not been there for at least fifteen years, I figured my memory would be faint, at best. Only walking a few steps, I quickly remembered the tall water-clock in the entrance, and how long it took me to understand it at the ripe age of 5 (how did all that water transfer back and forth so easily, and how did it know what time it was?). We walked around the ramp up to floor three, with our destination being pre-school Heaven, otherwise known as Playscape. One walk down the hallway and the recollection came back with a vengeance. The smells of diapers, sandboxes, mommy-perfume, hand-sanitizer, and old toys mixed together and I was right back to being 3. I could remember climbing that purple jungle gym, or at least seeing pictures of me doing so. I (very faintly, I admit) recalled my dad teaching me how to scoop the water into buckets and how much I wanted to do it all on my own.

Nostalgia is a tricky game, as we are transported back to a place from our past, with rainbow-colored glasses. I found myself, standing in this room full of 3-year-old, curly-haired blondes, longing to know: what was my mom really thinking? Did she enjoy this? Did she like her friends? Did they parent the same, or was there an unspoken tension in the air about their differences? Did she wish she could go back to work instead of be a stay-at-home mom? Was I throwing fits all day? And what about my dad? Did he really like this stuff, too? What did they talk about over lunch?  And what kind of absurd outfit did they dress me in that morning? 

In ten years from now, I hope I remember all of this phase of life. I hope I don’t look back and only remember the good things, but that I also remember the hard, growing seasons. I hope I refrain from making condescending comments to other 25-year-olds about how easy their life must be, and “Oh, I wish I could be twenty-five again.”  I hope I take a young woman out to coffee, seeking to learn from her instead of forcing my insecure “I know more than you” wisdom down her naive throat. And I hope when I walk into places that remind me of twenty-five, I don’t sit in a sea of self-pity, longing to go back . . . but instead feel thankful for the season that was, and even more grateful for whatever season I find myself in.

Thank you, nostalgia, for teaching me to look back with joy and push forward with gratitude.

PS–This what us 25-year-olds really looked like at the age of 3, if any of you were feeling nostalgic for 1989.

scraps

From deep in the tradition, from The Cloud of Unknowing, a fourteenth-century text from an unnamed English monk: “You only need a tiny scrap of time to move toward God.” The words slap. Busyness is not much of an excuse if it only takes a minute or two to move toward God. But the monk’s words console, too. For, of time and person, it seems that scraps are all I have to bring forward. That my ways of coming to God these days are all scraps.

Lauren Winner, Still: Notes on a Mid-Faith Crisis

Today was my very large scrap.

The past couple of weeks have been a whirlwind with very few moments to pause. I took the day off today and allowed 8am-10pm to be a very big space of time, to read, reflect, write, laugh, cry, catch my breath, and eat 10-too-many strawberries. And drink an insubordinate amount of green tea.

This season feels like an upward climb without a peak. But today I stopped, because while my to-do list runs long, I fear the outcome of neglecting the change surrounding me. I also know all too well the results of not pausing, as words bitter and spiteful come to mind. And because God is the Creator of all things beautiful, I want eyes (and patience) wide enough to see all that and everything in between.

The key, of course, is asking God for those eyes. And so, I ask. For eyes wide enough to see, a heart deep enough to yearn, courage big enough to push beyond insecurity, and grace to transform my weary soul.

Tonight I bring my scraps, confident that He can make the loveliest of things out of the dirtiest of scraps.

loss and joy

About a year ago, our friend Rob was diagnosed with brain cancer. He lost his battle early Saturday morning. Rob had been a youth leader at Chapel Rock longer than I’ve been alive. There is so much to say about his beautiful life, but today words aren’t really coming to me. I’m a mixed bag emotions–relief for him, that he is now whole and complete in Christ, while also feeling sad in the loss of our friend. So since no words will do, I have two favorite pictures:

This photo is from the Senior Trip in 2010. Things to notice: warning sign against bears, and Rob’s unafraid face. There was steadiness to Rob in his ability to not be dominated by outside circumstances, which rang true in so many areas of his life. Including walking straight down a path with potential bears.

This photo was taken in our backyard the night we moved into our house. Rob, along with many other youth leaders, moved in all of our stuff within an hour. Afterwards we spent some time on our patio and Rob played with Nick & Niccole’s daughters, Nora and Macy. His gentle and quiet spirit resulted in him being a total kid-magnet.

Goodbye for now, Rob. We will miss you.

we are not enough.

My husband is not enough.

My friends, nope, they are not enough.

My mother, she is not enough.

My father, he is not enough.

My brother, he is not enough.

My coworkers are not enough.

My students, daggonit, they are not enough.

None of us are enough.

We want people to be enough. We wear them out, force them into roles they were not meant to play, beg them to be playdough in our hands–shaping them into the exact people, leaders, spouses, friends we hope and dream them to become.

But, I am not enough. And I so desperately wish I was. I frantically run through life, hoping that everyone I meet will be amazed, “Wow, isn’t she marvelous?” And yet I continue to disappoint the people in my midst. I used to think the solution to this was to just be better, achieve more, impress higher, be stronger.

I am finding that real courage comes from saying, “You know what? I guess I am not enough. I have so much to learn. I suppose, no, I know I need other people. I cannot do this on my own. I am flawed. Deeply, deeply flawed. I know it; I embrace it, and know admitting it will be the only thing that frees me.”

This morning I have peace in knowing I am not enough. And neither are you. We’re not supposed to be.

Then the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind:
2 “Who is this who darkens counsels
with words without knowledge?
3 Get ready for a difficult task like a man;
I will question you
and you will inform me!
4 “Where were you
when I laid the foundation of the earth?
Tell me, if you possess understanding!
5 Who set its measurements – if you know –
or who stretched a measuring line across it?
6 On what were its bases set,
or who laid its cornerstone –
7 when the morning stars sang in chorus,
and all the sons of God shouted for joy?
8 “Who shut up the sea with doors
when it burst forth, coming out of the womb,
9 when I made the storm clouds its garment,
and thick darkness its swaddling band,
10 when I prescribed its limits,
and set in place its bolts and doors,
11 when I said, ‘To here you may comet
and no farther,
here your proud waves will be confined’?
12 Have you ever in your life commanded the morning,
or made the dawn know its place,
13 that it might seize the corners of the earth,
and shake the wicked out of it?
14 The earth takes shape like clay under a seal;
its features are dyed like a garment.
15 Then from the wicked the light is withheld,
and the arm raised in violence is broken.
16 Have you gone to the springs that fill the sea,
or walked about in the recesses of the deep?
17 Have the gates of death been revealed to you?
Have you seen the gates of deepest darkness?
18 Have you considered the vast expanses of the earth?
Tell me, if you know it all!
19 “In what direction does light reside,
and darkness, where is its place,
20 that you may take them to their borders
and perceive the pathways to their homes?
21 You know, for you were born before them;
and the number of your days is great!
22 Have you entered the storehouses of the snow,
or seen the armory of the hail,
23 which I reserve for the time of trouble,
for the day of war and battle?
24 In what direction is lightning dispersed,
or the east winds scattered over the earth?
25 Who carves out a channel for the heavy rains,
and a path for the rumble of thunder,
26 to cause it to rain on an uninhabited land,
a desert where there are no human beings,
27 to satisfy a devastated and desolate land,
and to cause it to sprout with vegetation?
28 Does the rain have a father,
or who has fathered the drops of the dew?
29 From whose womb does the ice emerge,
and the frost from the sky, who gives birth to it,
30 when the waters become hard like stone,
when the surface of the deep is frozen solid?
31 Can you tie the bands of the Pleiades,
or release the cords of Orion?
32 Can you lead out
the constellations in their seasons,
or guide the Bear with its cubs
33 Do you know the laws of the heavens,
or can you set up their rule over the earth?
34 Can you raise your voice to the clouds
so that a flood of water covers you
35 Can you send out lightning bolts, and they go?
Will they say to you, ‘Here we are’?
36 Who has put wisdom in the heart,
or has imparted understanding to the mind?
37 Who by wisdom can count the clouds,
and who can tip over the water jars of heaven,
38 when the dust hardens into a mass,
and the clumps of earth stick together?
39 “Do you hunt prey for the lioness,
and satisfy the appetite of the lions,
40 when they crouch in their dens,
when they wait in ambush in the thicket?
41 Who prepares prey for the raven,
when its young cry out to God
and wander about for lack of food?
(Job 38:1-41 NET)

Thank you, Yahweh; You are enough.
I am sorry for expecting everyone else to be what is reserved for You alone.

why i love Brené Brown.

I’m writing this because I’m always asked how I became so strong and immune to the criticism. The answer is that I am strong, but I’m not immune. It hurts. Even though I know that “it’s not about me” or “some people are projecting” – it still hurts. I’m human.

This morning, CNN ran a special on Brené Brown’s research of authenticity, shame, and risk-taking. And out came the anonymous, angry commenters. I know it’s a part of the internet, but the lack of accountability that goes with harsh words through the computer is so disturbing. Chances are, if any of these people ran into her in Starbucks, they would thank her for her work (or be star-struck) and move on with their lives. Disagree with her or not, I highly doubt many would have the gumption to say so.

Brené Brown followed up with a blog post called Walking The Tightrope. I’ve been reading through her book, I Thought It Was Just Me: The Truth About Perfectionism, Inadequacy, and Power the past couple of days in replacement of reading the ongoing comment-thread. In fact, I have now just handed it over to my husband (speaking of mental boundaries), and he tells me when someone says something constructive and/or positive. People may have disagreed with me, and that is okay. Open dialogue, in which both parties are open to growth and change, promotes great conversation. And, if on Thursday afternoon people walked away from their computer considering how they can respect and love their spouse deeper than they did the day before, that is success.

If you’ve ever felt humiliated by a person, or personally attacked, she speaks so eloquently to the human heart’s inability to remain both authentic and made of stone. So do your soul a favor, and read her blog. And while you’re at it, go to YouTube and watch everything she’s ever said.

I still choose authenticity.

Thanks, Brené. You rock!

on criticism, trust, and context

So, I don’t think I was mentally prepared for the amount of readers (and anger?) that would come along with yesterday’s post about Boundaries & Love. A few people were really, really mad. One person even emailed me saying I was locked inside a cage of religious-fear and I needed released. What? Clearly they do not know me.

A few things in response to this:

1. I have lots of guy friends. Our friendships just look different from my friendship with women. We hang in groups. Read: we don’t lie around in our pajamas watching re-runs of New Girl together.

2. I am in full-time ministry, and have heard story (after story, after story) of men (and women) leaving their jobs because of an inappropriate relationship(s). So, boundaries are just a bonus to the consistent heart-checks that free me from that. I don’t want to be part of those stories.

3. I trust my husband more than anyone, outside of Jesus. Our boundaries are not created out of fear, but rather mutual love and respect for one another. In fact, they allow us to have great friendships with members of the opposite sex.

4. Criticism–especially that which does not come from a place of love–actually really hurts. I have usually been in the camp of “if you haven’t been through the grueling process of creating something, step back and don’t be critical just to be critical.” Yesterday I got a little personal taste of that. I am all for dialogue, conversation, growth, and different opinions, but not when they’re in the form of internet-rant-screams.

5. Before you critique something, read the entire thing. Context matters. I read a lot of comments yesterday wondering if they even read my post. I did not think our boundaries were a list for everyone to adopt. Rather, they were the overflow of principles we try to live within our own marriage. The encouragement was not to adopt my boundaries, but to think through your own heart/mind/desires and figure out what’s necessary for you and/or your spouse.

Thanks for reading and supporting! It’s been a fun couple of days.