Abundant Rest-2020 review

Abundant: existing or available in large quantities; amply supplied, plentiful; rich, copious

Rest: cease work or movement in order to relax, refresh oneself, or recover strength. allow to be inactive in order to regain strength, health, or energy, be placed or supported so as to stay in a specified position; 

Well, hindsight is—2020…. And this year’s theme, abundant rest- was infused in the last 365 days in ways that I couldn’t imagine a year ago.

Abundant rest looks like balance and feels like hope. It is a quiet confidence. A hard-fought calmness and stillness birthed out of a commitment to observing and honestly looking at myself. It was forged as I no longer ignored or dismissed myself- the things I tried not to think about-and the ones I ruminated on for far too long.  It was cultivated by self-compassion—being okay with being in-process, and humbly admitting where I was. Rest flourished as I let others in- my counselor, my old and new friends, and trusted that God would provide for my needs. It grew; even in a pandemic, in processing complex trauma, in the loss of my grandfather, two uncles, and extended family.

Abundant rest is only possible with honesty. Rest cannot be embraced when you’re running from your past, your emotions, your physical body. Rest is found in the process of knowing and being known. In looking at the painful parts of your history, admitting your hopes for the future, and living in the present. It is sustained by sleep, diet, exercise, and creativity.

This rest is abundant because it is holistic. As I look back, this year started with a reversal for me. In my career I was so mentally and emotionally engaged- working to help others through difficult times, to learn and grow- playing my long-held role as the “helper who is fine”. At the end of 2019 I knew it was me who was definitely NOT fine, needed help, and needed a change. So, January 2^nd, I found myself working in a kitchen, packaging food, and engaging in physical work rather than emotional or mental. It was exhausting in the best way. It was just the job I needed for this year-fast-paced, productive, and meaningful- helping to feed others during a pandemic. I’m grateful that God provided the work I needed, almost literally on my doorstep. I also found myself putting the pen down, and picking up the brush- painting when often I would have written- realizing that talking about your emotions is not the same as processing or feeling them- whether your journaling or chatting with a friend. Feeling emotions is a lot like swimming in the ocean- observing the waves, riding them out, and doing what you need to in order to stay afloat.

Leaving my career was the beginning of taking a step back from obligation-one that spilled over into my relationships as well. Learning to have healthy boundaries, to not ignore my own needs in order to meet the ones around me. It looked like discovering what emotional health really looked like- and working towards that. It grew in vulnerability-admitting my needs, wants, and learning to let others into my pain. It was painfully freeing to see the world continue on even if I wasn’t trying to control everything around me.

Abundant rest was fostered by intentionality- weekly video chats with friends, setting time aside to create, read, walk outside, and to have fun. Discovering what is restful for me- cooking a hearty breakfast, exploring watercolor painting, and learning to see my to-do list as a guideline-not a measuring stick.

Abundant rest looks like bravery- admitting my feelings, asking for help, saying no as confidently as I say yes. It looks like admitting what is difficult, what I like and don’t like, and not taking responsibility for things I cannot control. It grew by courageously voicing my fears, my trauma, my dreams. It takes an honest look at the world because trying to avoid, numb, and downplay reality is too damn exhausting.

And yes, abundant rest looked like stillness, too. Listening to others, observing my physical surroundings-cultivating contemplation, mindfulness, and integration. Taking bubble baths, walks for rest not just for exercise, and creating an environment around my home that was peaceful-candles, blankets, and lighting, rest was so much more than stillness.

With just a few days left in 2020. Im grateful for the hindsight. For the ways rest was abundant this year. For the grace of holistic stillness, of quietude that comes when you stop running from what you fear will overtake you, and find that it is in the rest that you can process and overcome it. So today, I pick up my pen, my paints, and pray with gratitude for the abundant rest of this year.

Merry Christmas

 

My Christmas card:

In the midst of a tumultuous year,

I hope you have so much more than a Merry Christmas

In the midst of a tumultuous year,

I hope you have so much more than a Merry Christmas

May you see with new eyes--

The Hope that surrounds you

The love that has sustained you

The people who bring Joy that have journeyed with you

May you hear with new ears-- 

Words of Hope that encourage you

Words of Peace that uphold you

Words of Joy that revive you

May you smell and taste with a new nose and mouth—

Scents that bring you peace

Tastes that you love

And meals that bring you joy

May this Christmas, 

in the midst of a difficult year;

be so much more than Merry.

how can this weary world rejoice?

 

In the midst of this advent season, reflecting on words like hope, peace, joy, love. Feels different this year. There has been so much upheaval, death, and pain. We are weary, how can we rejoice? And yet, I’ve sensed a general air of my community being a little more eager to enter the “Christmas spirit”. Walking around my neighborhood the day after thanksgiving, I couldn’t help but notice more people than usual decking the halls, trimming their trees, doing their best to make things merry in bright in the midst of darkness.

While it seems like the events of this year- Covid, wildfires, economic turmoil, high rates of domestic violence and suicides- stark reminders of the reality of suffering would blot out the hope of the season—I think they’ve actually strengthened it.

Maybe that’s the point we’ve so often missed with advent. In the throes of consumerism, we’ve missed the message. It’s easy to sing out ‘the weary world rejoices’ and go about our to-do lists when the world mostly seems “merry and bright”. But it’s a whole different thing to sing those words in the midst of darkness. When merry and bright are the last two descriptors that come to mind. Maybe this year is also an invitation- to dig into the message and to sing with new perspective our need for the Emmanuel to Come, to “disperse the gloomy clouds of night, and deaths dark shadows put to flight”—in a way we couldn’t understand before 2020.

We need the hope, love, peace, and joy of advent this year. The weary world can rejoice more fully when we acknowledge our weariness, our fear, our pain. We can rejoice in the hope of a savior, of the God with us. O come, o Come Emmanuel, and this year’s dark shadows put to flight-rejoice!

Letting mess in

 

When most people enter my home, the first thing they often remark is “wow, its clean”. As their eyes sweep my organized and cozy living room. Scan the gallery wall, comment on a painting.

But I’m starting to see my surroundings with new eyes. I’d like to punch whoever said “cleanliness is next to Godliness”—have they ever read the Bible? So full of grime, dirt, messy relationships, broken families, hearts torn apart. If anything, I think mess draws us to Godliness. It’s an invitation to holy. The mess around and within us finally too much to ignore or bear-we have to get help. Like the show hoarders- our environments often mirror our holistic health-and betray what we often want to bury.

The tidiness of my home is a reflection of more than my habits, it’s a window into my holistic self.

 As I look around this afternoon, I see it as a sign of how I’ve lived so much of my life. Wanting to be in control, to know where everything is, to routinely go though the forgotten-about places-from spices to mail. Sorting things out gave me a way to feel grounded, command, a foothold. From an early age I learned that the only things I could predict were my immediate surroundings and my words. I wrote with abandon- often to escape overwhelming feelings, and made sure things had their place- because if they did then maybe that meant I did too.

When the adult chaos swirled around me, being organized-in school, in my bedroom, and by writing everything out- was my safety. Hell, I even made a career out of behavior control and change.

But just like hoarders- my overwhelming need to control soon spiraled out of control. It was a vice that had a grip- and one I clung to out of trauma. I didn’t know what self-compassion meant, how to let there be mess and unfinished to-do lists.

But as I’ve healed, I’ve come to yearn for a bit of mess-for the openness and honesty of unfinished lists, dishes, the signs of a life in process, not simply protected.

You see, my space was also a reflection of my heart. My desire to be neat, tidy, and controlled.  That felt safe, but it was also suffocating. Keeping me from being open to being interrupted- to letting a bit of relational mess in-because of the beauty and weight vulnerability and intimacy bring to life. Intimacy felt like a threat- because being known meant being seen-and seeing beyond the dust-free surfaces of my appearance never felt safe, until now.

I still keep things pretty clean, its habit and personality too. But, now I’m not afraid to let a little mess in-to wait to wash the dishes, to transfer my clothes from “the chair” to the closet.  It may seem like a little thing, but this freedom is indicative of my inner world too. I’m okay with being in process, with seeing my own imperfections, with living a realistic life that ebbs and flows between having it mostly together, and also being unfinished.  It is out of this that I am now more open to having the unpredictability of another entering my space- literally and metaphorically. As Lauren Graham states, “ultimately everyone who gets close to you is going to see inside your closet on its worse day, and their reaction to that is what will tell you if you’re going to make it or not. You can’t live your entire life secured in by Spanx”(talking as fast as I can, p. 95).

Here’s to a life of expectation- that the mess is worth the intimacy, that being known and seen is a gift, not a threat, that its worth it, and that I can embrace it. So I’ll let the books pile on my end table, leave the dishes for later, and enjoy the life that’s in front of me.

Saturday is Necessary

The tomb was closed

Hearts laid bare

How can hope persevere?

With the Savior who died in there?

The in between is frightening

We cant see which way to go

How can the grave be an awakening?

On Saturday we cannot know.

Faith is forged in the darkness

When feeble prayers are said

How can I trust in this bleakness?

When the one I loved is dead?

Saturday is just as necessary

As the cross and Sunday morn

For each life has seasons where darkness tarries

In the tomb new life is born

Take heart in the waiting

When it seems like all is lost

There is hope sprouting in the burying

The son has paid the cost

Your Saturday seasons are not in vain

You are seen and loved in heartbreak

The one who died knows your deep pain

He’s with you in all your heartache

You don’t have to deny the struggle of the clouds

That shattered life pictures bring

It is human and divine to cry aloud

For the tears give permission for a broken heart to sing

Sunday is coming soon

For the savior and for you

The sun will once again shine at noon

And light will brighten you anew

The stone will roll from the grave

The Savior will walk away free

Enabling feeble hearts to be brave

A new hope for the world to see.

come home to yourself

As you spend more time at home,

I hope you come home to yourself.

May this forced solitude be an invitation to contentment.

May you find joy in your own company,

May you take time to know yourself.

For to “thine own self be true” is only possible when you are known.

May you live intentionally, gratefully, and peacefully.

May you make the most of this time—

Some days that will look like a checked-off to-do list,

Others it will be blankets and books, and movies.

May you give yourself permission to have a pandemic re-set in your life.

May you leave no stone unturned in your heart,

For there's no time like the present for a personal “spring cleaning”.

May you live patiently, and with kindness.

May you speak to yourself with gentleness,

May you live with self-control.

May self-compassion cover shame.

May you have peace and joy.

I hope you learn to live in the quiet and small spaces of your home and heart.

I hope you let yourself dream courageously.

I hope you love yourself unconditionally.

May this self-love overflow to others,

May you make the most of the time you have with the people around you,

May the verity of your life free others to live honestly 

May your self-knowing be the path to being known by others.

May your contentment be a beacon to others

May you come home to yourself.

begin at the end

I can feel it in my bones.

The time to write is now.

When it seems as though the world is ending.

Its time to begin, somehow.

It’s time to show up, speak up, stand up—unafraid.

What do you have to lose?

For when you’re faced with pain and grief.

Honesty can be the first relief.

From the trembling in your bones, the shaking in your chest.

Yes you’ve lived through pain before—but never this.

How can you begin—when it seems life’s been stripped away?

What joy can come of pandemic sorrow?

where is stability when the world is changing by the hour?

Maybe, beginning is what we’ve been sent.

Start this moment, to reclaim your presence—

No longer numbing or busying your internal world’s static.

Gives you the opportunity to clear your soul’s attic.

Fling open the doors to your heart-

Give air and space to what’s been unseen.

The gift of pandemic is present- in shared smiles as strangers walk past.

For we’re all in this together. No life has been untouched.

We’ve each been given an opportunity to breathe.

You can begin again,

 even when the world seems at its wits end.

Take heart, take stock, of what you want to carry with you.

This is the time to write.

Feel it in your bones, the day will come after the night.

How steps and strokes changed my perspective

“I don’t know how to very much, can you show me?” Expectant eyes, paintbrush poised, ready to learn and bring her vision of a painting alive.

Little did my niece know, she was teaching ME a lesson.

We painted, I modeled techniques and occasionally guided her hand, provided examples, and gave encouragement. All the while delighting in the process and the outcome. She had the vision and the courage, I helped her bring it to life.

Later on, the essence of her eagerness and energy still lingering in my apartment, I watched different girl tackle another dream—this one I related more to—the Amazon movie, “Brittany Runs a Marathon”. In the movie, Brittany, well, runs a marathon- but more importantly, she learns to let people into her life and heart.  Poised at what feels like rock bottom, she comes to learn that she is worthy of being seen, helped, and encouraged. In reality, she’s loved even before she begins—the people who cheered her on before Brittany first ties her laces, are the ones who cheered her on at the end.

As the credits rolled, I knew that these events had coincided in my life this day for a reason.  I couldn’t help but see the parallels of the painting and the marathon. In both, the finish was beautiful- but mainly because of the process. Both females had a goal, a vision, something they needed guidance with—one invited it from the beginning, the other literally ran from it.

I too, have a similar choice.  Will I eagerly accept help and guidance-or will I fight to keep my walls up as long as possible? Yes walls keep bad things out—and they’re probably there for a reason (I’m looking at you, complex trauma)—but walls can also keep the good things away. They can hinder intimacy, vulnerability, and a full range of human experience- they can keep you from finishing the proverbial painting or training for the marathon.

One thing Brittany learned as she ran, was that she was often her own worse enemy- she had to let herself in and honor her own boundaries. In thinking of this, I was reminded of the quote from “Indestructible” where another timely encounter included the wisdom that “a woman, my dear, will marry a man who wants her about as much as she wants herself” (Allison Fallon).

But, I think that truth also applies on a bigger scale, and in all areas of life. We often accept help in the measure that we accept and acknowledge our common humanity. When I know that I am human-everyone has peaks and valleys in their life, my place is secure. I can live out of security that I have value and worth regardless of my abilities, performance, or beauty- then I can accept and give help freely- I can be in relationship with others who want me as much as I want myself.

So tonight, as the credits rolled, and I smiled at the mental image of the finished painting. I prayed for God to teach me how to accept help, intimacy, and love from Him and others.  And to have courage dream big, in ways that would change my life. To start training for my proverbial marathon by boldly envisioning the life he is calling me to, take the next step. Secure in knowing that he will be faithful as I humbly say—“I don’t know how, very much, but—can you show me?”