It's different, I like it

                One of the things I love about my job is that it every day is different. I never know when a day with a kid will be “easy”, “challenging”, or so full of victories. Last week included days just like each of those for the kids I worked with. It’s amazing to see how much working with special needs teaches me—patience, perseverance, grace, hope, and joy. I am amazed by their perspectives and humbled by the way special needs are so real, and are such a wonderful picture of God’s grace and mercy—reminding me in many ways of how I must look to God sometimes—how my inabilities are apparent and yet are actually opportunities for growth and for his glory. Additionally, I never know how the kids will bless me by their innocence, joy, and wisdom.

Just last week, I was working with a child and out of the blue they started touching my ear and remarked “I like your ears, they’re different, they don’t have a curve, like this (touches their own ear) but I like it, Elise, its different”.  The child had no idea that for a long time I was insecure that my ears were different…tie it back to a rude middle school comment, and let the self-shaming begin. My soul hurt so good to hear those innocent words, the curious pointing out and appreciation of something that I long ago marked as ugly. Our culture is no help—different is seen as ugly, we don’t measure up if we don't match the magazine ideals.

Those precious words “its’ different, I like it” rang in my ears throughout the rest of the week. They worked their way into old and fresh wounds and were a picture of how God looks at us, our “flaws” remarking that “it’s different, and I like it”.

World Down Syndrome day was 3/21—a nod to the extra chromosome. On that day I thought of how special each child is—no matter what their ability--and was reminded that each of my self-proclaimed flaws dont make me ugly, they make me different and beautiful.  

So this week, may you be encouraged and healed—that God sees those things you over analyze, look at with disdain and with a sigh of “this is as good as its gunna get”—with joy. He created you purposefully, he looks at each of those things and remarks “it’s different, I like it”.

Permission to Be Still

                You have permission to stop whatever you’re doing and take a deep breath, and rest.

 Gulp in the refreshing air of silencing the incessant calls to do more, be more, work harder, get ahead, meet new people, try new things. You have permission to just be. Be secure in where you are—its getting you to where you need to be and it IS where you need to be right now. You don’t have to tackle that “to-do” list, send that email, check social media every hour, plan the weeks’ worth of coffee dates—you can set your pen down, unplug, stay home in sweats. What you do is not who you are.


WHAT you do is not who you are. What YOU do is not who you are. What you DO is not who you are. What you do IS not who you are. What you do is NOT who you are. What you do is not WHO you are. What you do is not you who YOU are. What you do is not who you ARE.

Get it?


                We are so culturally and I think innately, driven to define ourselves by our roles-nearly every person’s self-description starts with relational or occupational roles—teacher, daughter, friend, wife, etc. All these facets of who we are tug at our heartstrings—failing daily at their promise to fulfill, complete, satisfy our longing to be appreciated, known, applauded, loved completely. You see—what you do, the roles you have—are not who you are. Those roles and relationships can change in an instant—people move, marry, quit, die. We outwardly chase the wind of others approval and inwardly chide ourselves on what—on who—we’re not—forgetting all that we are.

                As I snuggled one of the many new born babies around me—I was struck that this baby has done nothing to merit love or approval—his accomplishments are excrement and loud, adamant exclamations of his needs—and a demand for them to be met asap. Yet, this baby is loved, cherished, adored, celebrated. And somewhere between birth and adulthood we forget that. We forget that we are loved just for being. That what we do—and thank ya Jesus even our mistakes—are not who we are. This frees us from the rat race and settles our souls. The quiet, reassuring voice that if we take time to listen to reminds us of his love, provision, grace, approval, and adoration for his babies—is waiting for us to be still.  Just like he called to His people, he calls to us to remember that “The Lord will fight for you, You need only be still” (Exodus 14:14).

                You have permission to rest today.  He is fighting for you. Fighting for you to remember that you are loved because you exist, not because of what you do. He is fighting to release your heart from the pain of striving, of failure, of fear. He is fighting FOR you. And that is plenty reason to rest today.

               

Someday, not Today, and That's Okay

                Someday, I may be where my 7^th grade self thought I would be at this time—but not today. Today I am where I am supposed to be. I spent 3 months in Kenya, and today I am living life in the path I can see. Bemoaning where I wish I was will make me miss out on the myriad of blessings that I do have today. I am blessed to have food on the table, a fairly good car to drive, a job that I enjoy, to name a few—and for today that is okay.

                Someday, I may have my own home, and a set career—but not today. Today, I am one of the “boomerang generation” living at home so I can save for graduate school. I am back in my first room, sharing a kitchen, and sharing ideas of what running a house aka compromising so my mother and I trip over each other less…I’ll take it as a good lesson and training for marriage. Today, that’s okay.

                Someday, I may be called a “wife”, “mother”, “sister”—but not today. Today I am “teacher”, “friend”, “daughter”—and that’s okay. I have to choose to be content in the relationships that are set before me. I am incredibly blessed to be supported by my family, life-long friends, and new friends from around the world. Sure, each of these relationships ebbs and flows, and rightfully changes as we enter into different stages at just the right time for each of us. Jealousy kills so much joy, it’s not worth it and never changes the circumstance for the better, never. I am placed where I need to be to flourish and to help others do the same-while today that doesn’t include a spouse or my own children—it does include precious souls and dear friends—potato potahto.

                Someday, I may end up looking back longingly at THIS day—and I don’t want to take either of them for granted. One of the many things Kenya taught me was that dreams are important and significant not just when they are realized, but because of the journey they are. Right now, I am on my journey to so many someday’s, but each day matters. Those “someday’s” are not realized today—and that is more than okay.

Remembering My Roots

                This day has not gone according my plans. After a full week of work I was ready for an escape (read like Dory) and planned a solo day trip to Eastern Washington—mostly for a change of scenery and to drive a direction I don’t normally go. For me, like my father, driving and a change of pace clears my head. As the mountains turn to forest and then desert, my mind shifts between events, memories, emotions. Occasionally I’ll listen to a sermon but normally it’s just silent or music-filled. It’s a therapeutic endeavor that leaves me refreshed and refocused when I pull back into our driveway.

                But today I woke up with a sore throat and foggy head—derailing my day trip plans. Thankfully, I was able to go back to bed and sleep past my internal clock. Now I’m hunkered down with my journal, a pile of books, coffee, and my Masai blanket. As I began to process—sans the “wind in my hair, tunes blasting” feeling—my thoughts shifted toward what I can still get out of this day. A true Saturday (lame pun, polite pity laughter not necessary). Just last night my dad and I discussed how we both like to escape by travelling and it was this morning, replaying that conversation, that it became a refreshing reminder of my roots. As I get older, I find myself doing more and more habitual things like my parents—ways of sitting/twiddling my hands, etc. You can’t erase your roots. In fact, today, I didn’t need to get away, I needed to get back—remember that my roots of worth don’t come from my  accomplishments, appearance, relationship status, my goals—no, it is rooted in being chosen, loved, and in redemption. I cannot work to be perfect, chosen, adored. I falter and feel lost when I forget and when I try to earn things I can’t or impress people whose approval is fleeting, frail, and hollow—only echoes of the acceptance I already have.

                So as I settle into the couch, pick a book from the pile, and sip my now luke-warm coffee—I dedicatethis day as one of rest—appreciating and reflecting on the roots of grace that “have brought me safe thus far and grace [that] will (and today specifically) lead me home”.