thankful for insecurity

Have you ever caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror while Zumba-ing? No?

Well, let me tell you, it’s probably not a pretty sight. 

Last night while attempting to dance like a Latin Diva bustin’ a move at Zumba, I glanced in the mirror only to realize the image in my head looked nothing like that which appeared before my eyes. Instead, what appeared before me was a pale-skinned, sweaty-haired disaster who clearly thought she looked way sexier than reality has sadly proven.

This is, of course, not the first time I’ve felt unsatisfied with reality. It happens every morning as I stare into the mirror and tug on my stomach, arms, cheeks, eyelids, and wish for something different. Or when I stare into a closet full of clothes and say, “I have nothing to wear.” Never done that? Well, either your identity in Christ is so rock-solid that you never feel the weight of insecurity, or you’re lying. Because as far as I can tell, every woman I know has a body part she’d freely trade.

I remember listening to a speaker in college say that nothing drives us to more bad decisions than insecurity. Insecurity drives us to jealousy, overeating, pride, drunkenness, terrible relationships with men, vanity, the list goes on. Insecurity, is–yes, certainly another form of evil. But… insecurity can actually be a gift. 

What’s that? Insecurity? A gift? Yep. A gift.

What happens when we  feel insecure? We push ourselves to find validation making idiotic choices, saying jealous things, spending money we don’t have on things we don’t need, find our worth in what we can achieve and know, and again… the list goes on. But what insecurity also does is push us to find credibility in things that actually matter. Whether or not we allow this to happen is not the point. Insecurity is a gift… in that it drives us to our real source of credibility: Christ. We are nothing without our Creator.

I am–quite slowly–learning to put my moments of panic-stricken insecurity into the hands that created me, to say over me, “You are more than this.” When we choose anxiety, we forget who we are. We forget where security comes from. And not just in external things, but internal, as well. We forget that our personalities are really just a reflection of God, that our circumstances are temporary in light of who He is, and we all bear the image of Christ in some way because He lives inside of us.

And so, today, I am thankful for insecurity. Insecurity that drives me to an identity in Christ, that pushes me to seek and trust Him deeply. Thank you, insecurity. . . you are an unwelcome, but motivating, gift.

killimanjaro and christmas trees

My life is so very ordinary. It’s true. I spent lots of time in denial, and can finally accept that my life is beautifully, extraordinarily, ordinary.

Last night, up lurking on Facebook, I intentionally stalked stumbled on an acquaintance from high school that recently hiked Mount Killimanjaro. Yes, you read that right. Girl hiked highest mountain in Africa. Immediately my interest peaked, as I 1) Hardly remember this person and 2) Am not sure how we became Facebook friends. Either way, she hiked Mount Killimanjaro. I lurked through hundreds of photos of tents, hiking poles, making food over a campfire, sites you only see in movies and then looked over at my bulldog snoring on my bed. Hardly close to hiking 19,000 feet above sea level.

I post photos of Christmas trees, driveways, my husband, food creations from our  little kitchen, friends having coffee, concerts that no one else cares about, birthdays, holidays with family, and weddings of beautiful friends. This is how my morning went today: I woke up, chowed down on Special K, made coffee, watched the previous night’s episode of Parenthood because I didn’t want to stay up until 11pm, fed and let my dog outside, dolled myself up only to slip a hat over my frizzed out hair, and drove two miles to work. Pretty thrilling, right?

But last night around 9pm, as I was standing near the window and looking out at our backyard covered in snow, my husband came over, wrapped his pale arms around my waist and simply said, “I love my life with you.” And we slow danced to silence. Corny? Yes. Do I care? No.

On the outside looking in, my life looks pretty simple. And it is. If someone wanted to make a movie about my life, there’s a strong chance that many would fall asleep. But that’s because it’s only boring to the outsider. On the inside, it’s pretty extraordinary and beautiful.

It’s taken me a while to realize this, but life doesn’t have to look extraordinary and unique to be so. And I’m not bashing, by the way, hiking Killimanjaro. That’s beyond incredible. But my guess is in between the photos, there was a lot of ordinary wrapped up in that hike. Lots of campfires, processed camping food, bug spray, tent making, blister-repairing, laughter, tears, awkward relational moments, forgiveness, loneliness, sore muscles, and maybe even a little regret. Ordinary.

I believe God is visible and present in the crazy, Mount-Killiminjaro-moments. I also believe He is undeniably present in the small, ordinary moments. The bowls of cereal, arguments with our spouse, mortgage payments, making snowmen with children, bad recipes, raking leaves, tithing, tutoring a struggling child at a nearby elementary.

All of us are full of ordinary. But that’s what makes life so beautiful. So today I am thankful. Thankful for grocery bills, weekly menus, friendships that never change, and ordinary moments that are absolutely Divine.

no one’s above it

I was recently put into a situation where Kyle & I’s guard rails were questioned and put at risk. See, Kyle & I decided when we got married on a few “guard rails” to keep us from being unfaithful to each other. None of these things are 11th Commandments or necessary for every couple on the planet, but for us, they are agreements we made for the sake of protecting and nurturing our marriage. A wise person who shall go unnamed once told me, “Anne, never think you’re above having an affair. No one is. Absolutely no one.” When we become invincible in our minds, we let little things seep in, ignore the intuition that quietly says, “mayday!” and excuse it for self-consciousness. If my heart is skipping a couple of negative beats before making a decision, that’s probably the Divine telling me to run. Or the Word becoming flesh in my subconscious. Or the Holy Spirit. All of those are viable options.

Back to said, vague situation. One of the agreements we made as a couple was to never ride in the car by ourselves with someone of the opposite sex. I realize to some people, this is extreme, over-the-top, and a bit intense. And I’m fine with all of those things. I don’t believe riding in the car alone with a guy is sinful. I just think it could be a starting place for a relationship I should only have with my husband. And that guard rail was questioned and mocked, making an awkward situation that I’m perfectly fine with.

So… I’m curious, before going into some of our other “guard rails,” what are some of yours? Do you and your spouse have guard rails you’ve established in your marriage–subconsciously or consciously?

this season in pictures

So, there’s been a lot lately. I don’t know who conspired together, but our lives have just been full to the brim… and I’m not complaining. We’ve had a few busy months mixed in with the everyday, ordinary-life things we have going on. So let’s do a quick review:

To start out the season of greatness, this happened.
Nate and Brooke Reeves tied the knot and well, it was a Christ-honoring wedding that will only continue in their marriage. Love it.

On a whim, Caitlin, Christy & I drove up to Chicago to visit our friend, Emily.

Then, we Kyle & I ventured down south to Eatonton, Georgia for his stepsister’s wedding, which I officiated!

It was my first time performing a wedding ceremony and I loved every minute of it. The preparation, rehearsal, wedding day. . . it was all such an honor and I loved getting a front-row seat to two people committing to love each other ’til death do them part. Plus, I’m kind of a big fan of Emily and Brince, so that part was easy. :)

Up next? I got to spend quality time with some precious (I really mean precious) high school girls at the end of September. And it was beautiful.

Are you envisioning a suitcase getting worn out yet? Because it’s only just begun. A few days later, I went out to nowhere, Indiana with my best friends from college for a few days of laughing, Funfetti cookies, reading, music videos, hot-tubbing, and a lot bit of crazy. We’re weird. We know it. We show it.

PS-If those backgrounds look eerily similar, it’s because… they’re in the same place.

That next Saturday morning, we drove up with the Reeves’ to Evanston, Illinois to watch the Michigan/Northwestern game. Nate and Brooke have become such close friends of ours this past year, so we’re a little excited that they’re married now. :) They’re in ministry, too, and work at a church about 10 minutes from us. So not only do they “get it,” but we’re honest and encourage each other, too. 

Last weekend, I got ordained. I haven’t taken the time to write about it yet, but all I can say is I was overwhelmed by the amount of people God has placed in my short journey so far. It was humbling to say the very least. My friend Caitlin took some photos of the ordination service, but I don’t have those yet, so for now… all you get is a photo of me with the cake one of Chapel Rock’s youth leaders made. PS–Stacy (the woman who had the cake made), told me that she told the baker to make it “sassy, not cheesy, and funky!” I take that as a major compliment. :)

Yesterday, I drove up to Chicago with my mom and her best friend, Debbie, to celebrate her 60th Birthday. We went to a Dinner Theatre last night and shopped for my mom today. Debbie has been apart of my mom’s life since before I was on the scene, so their friendship is comfortable and familiar… and definitely gives me a picture of something I want for my friendships as well. 

Here’s a look at what’s to come in the next few weeks: Gungor/John Mark McMillan/and someone-named-David-Crowder concert, Crawfords’ Celebration, Youth Ministry Fall Hayride, The Civil Wars Concert, Congregational Dinner, and the Marks/Drye wedding in Winston-Salem, NC.

When I got home today, Kyle had dinner ready and knew I’d want to lay around all night in our pajamas watching football. Well, he did the football watching, I did the Sunday prep. But you get the idea. So now, after a few deep breaths, I’m feeling a little like this:

Happy Fall, to one and all.

it’s not perfect, but it’s more than enough.

Five years ago, a bunch of friends headed out to their very first fall break together… three nights and days spent at a cabin in rural Indiana. At the time, they were all living within walking distance of each other, in similar classes, eating meals at the same tables, and basically doing every single activity with one another. They knew they had it good. But they didn’t really know how good. So they spent those three days jumping off docks, canoeing, eating lots and lots of junk, playing one too many board games, developing cabin fever, and laughing just enough to be compared to giddy seventh graders.

The next year, life started changing. Three lived as roommates in Cincinnati and were in their senior year of college, one lived in Kentucky and had just lost her father, one had graduated and was living in Maryland with her newlywed husband, and one in North Carolina on an internship. Suddenly, they weren’t all living on the same floor or frequenting all the same places. In fact, experiences had changed them that some didn’t know about or understand, although miles separated them. Life looked different that year. And Funfetti Vacay looked different, too. The kind of different that recognizes there have been some missing inside jokes, and lots of life lived in 12 months that some didn’t know about. But it didn’t matter. They laughed for three days straight.

And then laughed some more…

And sat for hours in the glorious hot tub…

And then, best of all, ate Funfetti Cake. Thus making it, Funfetti Holiday.

The next year, life got even crazier. Two married, one engaged, all but two graduated, and a harsh thrust into adult-land had officially begun. Most of them feeling lost in the transition, but still had Funfetti. This year, as most would agree, was possibly the most difficult. Some relationships were torn, mended, and put back together. Most were in the beginning stages of the usual mid-twenties crisis. And all were feeling just a bit out of sorts. Okay, perhaps a lot bit. Their dance videos weren’t quite up to par. They didn’t laugh nearly as loud. And, as they would all admit, they all got on each other’s nerves a bit more. But still, they had Funfetti. And these women all vowed that if they could make it to this year… it would become sacred. Three years marks territory that cannot be touched. Don’t tread on Funfetti Holiday. It’s sacred. And here, in that 3rd year, the tradition was really born.

Last year, the fourth and best, was when the bow came together. Life was all over the place–one still in Maryland with her no-longer-newlywed husband, two married, one in between roommates and one living at home. The adult life they dreamed of in their first Funfetti Holiday looked nothing like any of them imagined it. Rumor is that year, they all cried in the hot tub talking about how much they missed each other, that life is nothing like you think, and that if they could, they’d all live in the same city so they could have cry-fests like this all the time.

But for some reason, God just didn’t intend that. But He gave them Funfetti Holiday. And it’s not perfect. But it’s more than enough. So. Much. More.

Here’s to you, Funfetti Holiday. You are truly sacred.

Cuscowilla

Here’s our view this morning. No big deal.

We’re down in Eatonton, Georgia for Kyle’s step-sister’s wedding. Emily and Brince asked me to officiate the ceremony and I am so honored to be apart of their day. In Bittersweet, Shauna Niequist wrote a lot about how out of all the things she gets to do, weddings are her favorite. And after the rehearsal last night, I so agree. There is something so beautiful about wedding days–and not the obvious things. But the promises that are made right in front of you go so far beyond that day, and in a world so full of things to be sad about, weddings refuse to let anyone stay locked up in their inner-circle of distress or turmoil. I treasure that I have the privilege of having a front row seat. And I think it’s perfectly fitting that marriage begins with a promise.

So here’s to a weekend in Eatonton; I think I am going to learn a few things today. And Happy Wedding Day, Emily & Brince.

making boxes in chicago

On Wednesday night, my friends Caitlin, Christy, and I made a trek up to Chicago to visit our friend, Emily. Emily is a sophomore at Judson University, about an hour outside of Chicago, and well… she just needed some love and fun. So, we drove up there, stayed in a fabulous hotel, and had a blast all day yesterday.

What I love about Emily is her unique ability to make absolutely anything fun. When I was an intern at E91 and she was a sophomore in high school, we sat around my house for an entire afternoon seeing how many M&M’s we could shove up our nose without getting stuck. I guess you could say we both have a love for simple and childish ways of life.

Emily’s best friend died this year. I keep trying to find other eloquent ways to state that, and there are none. Her best friend died and since then, inevitably, a part of her has been lost, too. Yesterday while we were touring around Chicago, we made human boxes instead of human pyramids (Not enough people for a pyramid? Make a box instead!), ventured in and out of hotels–wanting a peek at their ballrooms and courtyards, and just laughed. A lot. But we also sat in a lot of silence. The type of silence that recognizes that life is forever different, and also very painful, and that losing your best friend to death takes away a piece of who you are. It just does. And no amount of words or laughter can change that.

We walked all over the city, laughing one minute and talking about the mystery of God the next. Asking questions about why God allows evil to happen while simultaneously scouting out box-making places. Venturing in and out of H&M looking for clothes and then seeing a yellow balloon that says, “Consume less, share more,” as we wandered down Michigan Ave. It was the ultimate irony, I suppose. Life is both beautiful and so very painful.

Because death is just so full, and man so small
Well I’m scared of what’s behind, and what’s before
And there will come a time, you’ll see, with no more tears
And  love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears
Get over your hill and see what you find there
With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair
(Mumford & Sons, After the Storm)

pay it forward and I-STEP

Ten years ago, I was fourteen years old and a freshman at Lawrence Central High School. I was clueless, insecure, yet just narcissistic enough to believe life revolved around me (in my credit, I think most 14-year-olds are this way. . . I think).

We were in ISTEP that week, a standardized test that any kid in Indiana takes at least every two years (or so it seems). Even though my class wasn’t taking it that year, we were still stuffed into an auditorium every morning that week while our other classmates were testing. I remember that morning, our English teacher told us we were going to watch a movie and break into discussion groups afterwards, so we had to pay attention. The movie was Pay It Forward, and about halfway through, my Social Studies teacher came in, turned it off, and said we all needed to go back to our classrooms right away. We shuffled back, probably complaining about the inconvenience of having to move 100 yards, and walked into room just as the second plane hit the World Trade Center. I have to confess to you that before that day, I didn’t know what the World Trade Center was. I remember wanting to ask, but not wanting to look stupid or naïve. Our teachers let us call our parents if we needed, and I called my dad because I thought my uncle was flying that day, who lived in New Jersey.

Then our English teacher, Mrs. Guthrie, told us to just write. We had “Seed Journals,” for our class (which I am still on the hunt for), and she told us that the rest of the morning, we needed to just write. She turned on the television, sat there and stared, and we all wrote. No one resisted or did anything stupid; I think even as selfish 14-year-olds, we knew life wasn’t about us that day. I remember my Biology test being cancelled that afternoon, and going home to mom glued to our television. I remember my dad came over to my mom’s that night, and we spent a few minutes watching the footage together, as a family.

That next year, I joined my high school’s show choir, and we had the opportunity, on the 1-year anniversary, to sing at all kinds of memorial services and events that honored those that lost their lives that day. I think only then did I begin realize the magnitude of what this really meant for our country. I remember my choir director, Mr. Bridgewater, not being able to get through The Battle Hymn of the Republic without lots of tears, and the rest of us sniffling through, as well. We competed in NYC that year, and spent about an hour at Ground Zero. Near the end of our time, Mr. Bridgewater called us together to sing one of his favorite, Song of the Unsung Hero. We knew that moment was significant, but we didn’t get it. We still don’t. But we knew life wasn’t about us.

My sophomore year of high school, I joined an InterFaith club, wanting to know more about Islam, as this event has sparked a lot of curiosity in my little brain. There, I met a few Muslim friends, all with a much different faith than the extremists I heard so much about. As I sat and listened to their stories, their worries and anxieties they faced on a daily basis, I truly learned what having empathy was all about.

I hope one day, when/if I have children, and they ask me where I was on 9/11, that I am able to recall these little memories–things that humanized this day for me. It’s easy to dehumanize and record it as a historical moment, but for many, it was the day that they lost their dad. Or their mom. Or their aunt, uncle, or grandpa. Many lost friends, co-workers, the ability to walk, or the capacity for love.

I remember 9/11.

impression management

Something very strange happened to me yesterday.

302 people visited my little blog. Yes, you read that right. 302 people.

That’s quite a bit more than the typical 3. And I’m not a numbers person when it comes to blogging. For reals.

One of my professors from college, Dr. Weatherly, linked my “Bible College Pet Peeves” post to his Facebook page. And seeing as how he has 2,207 friends to date, and people respect his opinion because he’s uber-smart, some of them ventured over to little-ole-Anne’s blog. Also, understand, I wrote “Bible College Pet Peeves” coming from a conversation with a Bible College Graduate, that now teaches Bible for a living, and never attended Bible class. So you get the irony.

I was casually changing my settings when I noticed the bar at the top said “147 visitors in the past hour.” At first I thought, “Something is wrong with my settings,” then I clicked on the Facebook link and saw the streamline of “likes” and comments. AHHH! What!? I frantically scrolled through my past posts, realizing the one RIGHT BELOW it is a photo of myself with incredibly greasy hair, also disclosing details about my lack of personal hygiene. On second thought, maybe that was not the most impression-management-savvy post I’ve ever written. And because my mom, a few friends from other states, and my best friend are the only ones to read my blog (I know, I’ve checked), that didn’t matter 2 days ago. But yesterday, probably 100 people saw that photo. And all my other personal biz.

The pastor in me says, “It’s good to be transparent and open with people about your everyday life.”
The human in me says, “OMG!!!!!!!!!!! I JUST WRITE FOR MY MOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

But, guess what? No one blasted me (too hard). And everyone has already forgotten about it. I guess it was a good dose of humility that really, my life doesn’t matter that much, and even if 100 people saw the photo of my greasy hair… they were sitting at home with the same style. So there.

bible college pet peeves

I had a conversation recently that sparked some of my “Bible College Pet Peeves.” I thought I had put them aside, since it’s been almost two years since I’ve been in school, but nope…. they came flaring up with a vengeance. So, here we go. This may or may not come across incredibly judgmental (okay, it probably will). Please know that all of this has an undertone of grace and understanding.

1. I go to Bible College because my parents made me, and I’m over church stuff. 
First things first: I sympathize with you. But I also want to kick you in the rear (in the name of love, of course). You went to Bible College because your parents MADE you? While I’m sad you aren’t allowed to make your own decisions, that is not a get-out-of-learning-free card. While you’re here, and while you are having doubts about faith/life/church/Christianity/humanity/etc., how about using this time to learn a few things? Go visit professors that will make you think… go voice your frustrations with people who will listen, because they’re EVERYWHERE. And they might even be smarter/nicer/wiser than you perceive.

2. I’m an athlete; why do I have to take Bible classes?
Look at the sign at the entrance of the campus. Sorry, but you should have known.

3. This is my time, I don’t need to serve people while I’m in college. 
One of the most perplexing things while I was in school was how few people actually left campus to go serve the people in our community. Because more often than not, these were also the people who had the most critical opinions about church, Christians, theology, etc., which of course makes zero sense. Knowledge puffs up; love builds up, right? If you want to learn, you have to get outside of yourself and do things that make you uncomfortable.

4. I learned all I need to know about the Bible in Sunday School.
Okay, no offense to your Sunday School teachers, but I’m pretty sure they do not have the level of education of the professors that surround you. Also, you were 12. Or 16. Or whatever. Your brain was not even close to being fully developed, and learning by a felt board is not the same as having your nose in a book written by a New Testament Scholar. These classes, believe it or not, enrich your faith, and if you choose not to attend and actively engage… you are seriously wasting LOTS of money, and time.

5. My professor thinks differently than the way I was raised; he or she is probably a heretic. 
This is the worst one of all. What a sad, sad Christian culture we live in to believe that if people see Jesus, the Bible, Trinity, Baptism, Communion, the Holy Spirit, and/or the Church differently than we’ve always known, they are somehow a pagan heretic. Seriously people. When you get out of Bible College and into reality, you are surrounded by people who disagree with you. And if you can’t figure out how to disagree with grace and learn from others that surround you, you are only limiting yourself. And God.

Time at Bible College has the potential to be some of the most enriching years of your life… if you let it be so.