What doesn't kill you makes you softer

 No shade to Kelly, but I have found that what hasn't killed me hasn't only made me stronger- it has made me softer. 

Almost 19 years ago, I found out I had hearing loss. That day is seared in my memory and physiology in only the way a trauma can.

While the intensity of the day has faded, and now I don't think about it unless something goes wrong with my hearing aid. But for almost two decades, the visceral memory brought tears to my eyes whenever it surfaced. 

The day before the 4th of July, I was reminded of my dependence when one of my aids stopped charging. I'd like to tell you I rolled with it- but in reality, I tossed and turned all night.  Wrapping my head around the next steps I knew I needed- finding an audiologist, appointments to get it sent in for repairs, lopsided hearing for who knows how long, and a dreaded retesting of my hearing. 

Not to mention, the financial cost as hearing aids are seen as ELECTIVE - like breast implants and viagra, and are not covered by most insurance companies. 

Undergirding the pillow planning, there was shame- I knew I was anxious, sad, angry- but what I started to accept- was that I also felt shame. 

No one but myself told me that "I should be past this", "its been 20 years- get over it". 

But life-long loss, is going to be felt, well, all along life. 

I enjoyed the 4th with the aid I had- got lunch with new but dear friends who helped me feel supported, and not like a burden that I worried I would be. 

For so long, I didn't know anyone else around my age with hearing loss, but now I know a few- and its a gift to have people to relate to. To remind myself it's "not just me". 

Sunday I was able to take my aid in, get a battery for my technologically ancient hearing aid from 2013, and made a plan to get tested today.

 I was able to reflect with a new perspective- secure enough to ask myself- what exactly about this is bothering me- besides the obvious?

What story am I telling myself about what my hearing loss means about me? Is there a different way to write it? 

A few days later, I was in a counseling session, where we pivoted from our usual topics to preparing for my appointment today. As I mentally walked through a typical hearing test appointment (watch this for how EMDR can support processing)  I realized the roots of the story I'd been telling myself about what my hearing loss meant about me. 

I'm not going to trauma dump that, but I'll summarize by saying I'd internalized that loss= less. I was afraid of not being okay- that any change would make me (more of) a burden. 

Walking through some objectively not great audiology memories- times where there were assumptions and unfounded proclamations - things like accusing me of cheating to get attention, saying that "teaching would be hard for you to succeed in"- I began to change the narrative. To look back and look ahead seeing my resilience not my inadequacy. The fear of unknown change was still there, but the shame was less. I started to believe that I would be okay- I am okay, no matter the outcome. 

Today, I walked into that testing booth, nervous but not overwhelmed. The hearing technician was knowledgeable and kind. I asked for a break when I needed it, and I made it through more grounded than I ever have.

My hearing is stable- tested almost identical to 2019, and actually was about 5 decibels better in 2 frequencies.

As I went about my afternoon, I found myself thinking- I’m actually pretty damn proud of how I live with severe hearing loss. It’s severe- and I’m okay.

I’m proud of the way I have lived my life in the 20 years since I was diagnosed. I thought back to those audiology appointments and metaphorically gave those me’s a hug. We’ve done it. I have a softness replacing the shame- and I’m grateful.

Like Jon Foreman and Switchfoot recently proclaimed, “it’s a beautiful life, I’m still learning to breathe” 

The light in my brokenness December 2, 2023

As I gazed at the second image “light” in Scott Erickson’s “Honest Advent” – depicting the womb like a flame, I started to cry- the light was coming to my story.

 

Growing up, I used to get slightly annoyed when adults would look at me with that gleam- “Yeah, yeah I’m the miracle baby, I had surgeries, my heart was broken, now I’m here—can I keep coloring in peace?”

The way we tell our stories is everything.

As the glances washed over me through the years, and even into adulthood when I people would ask about my scars or the dreaded open-ended “tell me about yourself” question, I would take a breath and then focus on the darkness of that time of my life-“I wouldn’t have lived through the week without the surgeries…I wouldn’t be alive if I hadn’t gotten help. My heart shouldn’t have made it. I was too broken. Yeah sure, a miracle… So I guess I’m on borrowed time…”

Unconsciously these thoughts played in the back of my mind, subconsciously jading my view about my worth and legitimacy.

 

But today, looking at the representation of the light in the womb- my narrative shifted. No longer was I the “girl who was supposed to die”- I am now, “the girl who lived” (maybe I should get a lightning bolt tattoo). I didn’t “almost die”—I lived. Not only thought that week but about 1820 weeks more. I LIVED, and by the grace of God, I’m still living.

 And so are you-

it’s amazing when you think about it- how any of us have a prolonged life. I’ve lost several dear people these last few years, and each one is a reminder of the gift of life, friendship, and community. I want to spend my remaining time focusing on the living, not taking for granted the present time I have. May this advent time be one of renewed joy, peace, hope, love as I remember the goodness of Jesus’ coming in the midst of the darkness of our world.  May today’s light permeate my beautifully beating heart as I live into this new light in my story- good news of great joy for all people, indeed. 

like the birds

    

I must have read it a hundred times, that God takes care of the birds.

 And yet, I find myself wondering how he’ll feed me. Even after years of provision, I look ahead at my hopes and inward at my fears and somehow the doubt swallows up the inklings of trust like a heavy fog. Some may call it an attachment wound, others the human condition – that it’s a survival mechanism to doubt the good and put more weight on the possibility of pain.

 

But then I pause and look at the birds. The ones that flew south this winter, trusting the trees to hold them, the relative warmth of the south to hold them, and the world they find themselves in to feed them. Perhaps we’re reminded of birds in the gospels because we need to be a bit like them. Trusting our innate pull to seek, to follow seasonal rhythms. To proverbially “fly south” in our winters. To trust that God will hold us up like the trees, that He’ll warm and touch the fear in our souls with new provision, and that there is abundance right here, even in winter.

 

There’s no shame in reading something a hundred times before you learn the lesson. God’s word has been preserved for a reason. Because it is our human condition to wonder, hope, and fear in the same breath. It’s not a weakness, it's innate. So, like the birds, I land on the tree of hope, see the provision this evening of hope, having renewed faith as the fog of fear lifts, and I am fed. 

A decade ago

 A Decade Ago

My feet touched Kenyan soil. I was jet-lagged but exuberant. I had a dream when I was 11 that as I walked down a red dirt road a little girl approached me shyly and grabbed my hand. I woke up and knew that someday I would go to Kenya. 

After a couple of weeks of orientation and language lessons, I found myself walking down a rural red dirt road. My friend and I walked slowly through the misty air and vibrant greens. As we walked children shyly looked up and to my surprise, a little girl grasped my hand, just like my dream.

Those 90 days in Kenya were transformative. I learned so much from the people I met, the lives I got a glimpse of, and the way I reacted and responded on a different continent. It humbled me and shook me out of my western bubble. It wasn’t about me “going over there” as much as it was about learning and sharing. Being open to having my worldview challenged. To see my life and my history as one sliver of a vast story. To be grateful and to be open to new ideas and ways of living. 

Today I find myself in a temporary apartment in Texas. My theme for 2022 is Embark in Faith. The timing of this anniversary is not lost on me. The significance and reminder of fulfilled dreams that seemed to tary. A lot of life and losses have happened in the decade since my feet hit those soil. Family loss, career changes, global upheaval, and a cross-country move (and that’s just in the last two years).

As I look back on who I was that day, I’m grateful. Twenty-four-year-old-me was adventurous, intentional, and open. She trusted that God would lead her, provide for her, and equip her each day. I never set an alarm in Nairobi, and I never overslept. Amazingly I slept and woke with rhythm and ease. I don’t want to glamorize the time. The culture shock was real, I needed a dose of humility and perspective. I needed to know that it’s not about me being indispensable but that I can accept invitations. The choice to go out of my comfort zone. To really listen and learn from people who see the world differently than me. That we all want to be seen, understood, have safety, and pursue dreams. 

So today I remember. The lady who showed me sacrificial hospitality- probably spending a week’s wages to have us for lunch. How I wish I had responded differently to a vendor who stole my money at a market, the thunder of children playing football. I think of songs around campfires, the view of the Great Rift Valley, and the feel of a rough giraffe tongue. I think about laughter around dinner tables and prayers hurled up to a star-filled sky. I see the faces of friends from around the world, the child I met born HIV positive, and the proud smirk of a child who read more than they could the day before. I think about my walks around the markets, the cheeky monkeys stealing fruit, the way home wasn’t a place but a state of mind. 

I think back on those months and am encouraged for this season. I don’t know where I’ll be living or working a month from now. But I know that the same God who provided for me a decade ago is still working today. I know that I will meet new people, find new passions, and look back on this day in a decade with perspective. 

10 years ago I embarked in faith, and that legacy is still being worked out today. 

Return to Hogwarts- Neville's Dream

 A year ago today I wrote the following short story about Neville. 

My talented friend from college read it aloud (you can watch it here the story starts around 32 minutes!

I also wrote one about Luna which you can read on my blog too.

It wasn’t that he wanted to be a hero, he just wanted to be known for more than forgetting. Neville shifted to his side and sighed deeply. The rest of Gryffindor tower was silent, blissfully unaware of the turmoil that kept him up at night.

Neville closed his eyes in an attempt to block out the images of his parents.

“At least mum took my candy last time, and I didn’t forget to bring it”.

He never knew what a visit to St. Mungos would look like, some days he was ashamed to admit he didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to see his parent’s vacant stares, their passive attempts at patting his arm or ruffling his hair. He just wanted to be remembered. As light began to brighten the room, at last his breathing slowed and eyelids drooped.

The next day was a blur of OWLS. Neville was sure he did well in herbology. Plants were predictable, they never rushed or confused him. Neville even had empathy for the mandrakes, whose shrieks of disapproval reverberated long after they were re-potted. No one likes change, especially when you don’t choose it.

“Oh hello, Neville”, Luna said breezily as she matched his pace. “I can’t seem to find my cottongarbol nymphs, but I’m sure they’ll turn up when I stop looking. Father always says that the best things come when we least expect, but I think expecting the good is half the fun”.

“Right” muttered Neville, distracted by recipes and rules of potions, hoping that Snape’s glares wouldn’t get to him, this time.

“Oh anyway, Neville, I found this”- she handed him a clouded remembral, that turned bright red as she delicately placed it in his hand. He blushed furiously, losing his remembral, how fitting.

“thanks, Luna. Hope this doesn’t meant I’ve forgotten what we’ll need for potions” he gulped in anticipation.

“Oh, well, maybe finding it will help you remember, Neville--Oh there they are! She pointed to a dusty painting right outside of Snape’s class as she scooped air and placed it in her bag.

“Thanks, Luna” he said calmly, as they took their seats.

The hour passed quickly as Neville feverishly worked to make his cauldron the glittering blue the potion called for, but as the last second passed, it was still decidedly a murky grey. Much to be expected.

Snape sneered at him and said icily, “forgetting something, as usual, Longbottom”.

Once out in the open air, Neville breathed deeply. At least the OWLS were over.

“Cheer up, mate” encouraged Ron. “Snape’s a jerk. We all know you got top marks in herbology. Probably beat Hermoine” he grinned and punched his arm.

“Oy! Hermoine! I said PROBABLY” Ron cried as he rubbed his own shoulder.

Hermoine rolled her eyes and said matter-of-factly, “Ron’s right, Neville. Snape doesn’t have a compassionate bone in his body. I’m sure you did your best. Anyway, what WAS the antidote for stinging hornswoggles”

Neville smiled, answering Hermoine confidently, as they made their way to the Gryffindor table for dinner.

He rarely talked about his vivid dreams. Ones where he was back in the cottage, playing in the garden as his parents looked on lovingly. How his dad would grip his shoulder with pride, and his mom would smile at him, eyes aglow with knowing and tenderness. The way his dad would point out the various plants and quiz him on their meanings and uses. His mother’s compassionate gaze, her confident voice, and the gentle way she moved his hair out of his eyes. Neville often woke reluctantly, and tried unsuccessfully to fall back into the world where he was known, and not forgotten.

Later that night, exhausted from the exams, Neville uncharacteristically fell right asleep.

His eyelids flickered as rain pelted the dormitory windows, and this night a different scene came to focus. He was talking with confidence and a command that surprised him. He was in an unfamiliar room, organizing groups of students, telling them which plants to grab, and how they could use them to protect themselves and Hogwarts. As students nodded and dispersed, Neville felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. As he turned, pale blonde hair brushed his cheek and Luna’s lips met his with a fierce tenderness. He kissed her back, with a fervor that seized him. The cry of an uprooted mandrake shocked them apart.

Neville blushed as Luna smiled, “I’ve been wanting to do that for quite some time” she breathed confidently. “no point in waiting when the world is ending” pausing slightly to straighten her robes, Luna looked at him passionately, then continued calmly, “I’ve got to collect my narfugal water sprouts, they’re known for their venomous spit, I’m sure they’ll be helpful. bye Neville” she squeezed his hand and looked back once as she left the room.

Neville’s heart was hammering and his palms were sweaty, but that had nothing to do with nerves. Inexplicably, the scene shifted and he was standing with a sword, aiming for a large dark and twisting serpent, his grip tightened as he raised the hilt—a crack of lightning jolted Neville awake. His four-poster shook with thunder as his heart still beat wildly.

“it was only a dream” he sighed as he punched his pillow and pulled up his covers.

Maybe one day I’ll be known for more than being forgetful. Maybe, I’ll be brave and loved in real life, not only in my dreams.

Ten Years Out- Reflections on Hearing Loss- Updates from year 14

I wrote the following post 4 years ago. Tomorrow is year 14. This post has been my most read, by far, on this blog. As I re-read this today- from the lens of world-wide upheaval of 2020/2021- I was grateful for the reminder that just because we can’t see past our current circumstances, doesn’t mean that they wont pass. There will be perspective, hope, healing, and joy. Not just on the other side of whatever trouble you’re facing, but even in the MIDST of it. When you pause to breathe, receive help and encouragement from family and friends. Also, for anyone whose suffering is fresh--I know the ache is real, the grief IS overwhelming, and your feelings of loss/anger/fear, have their place in your circumstances right now. I wrote these words a decade later. But initially, there were many tear-filled days.Please take what you need from this post, or don't read it at all if it's not what you need today. Feel free to reach out in you need an empathetic ear. I know all too well how much it can add to your hurt to have well-meaning friends try to "help you see the bright side" when your world has gone dark. So, may my words from 4 years ago encourage you today.

 

Ten years ago today, after my mother gently dragged me to a local ENT doctor, my life changed when he told me I had bilateral degenerative hearing loss. I was terrified, in shock, unbelieving-not me, disabled? At 20?!  who will love me now? How can I finish college? What will my life look like now?—ran through my mind as the kind, yet ignorant-of-my-situation nurse who took my blood test told me “not to cry, it’s just a shot”, if only she knew.

But now, a decade later, I can’t help but reflect on how many of those questions and fears have drifted away—I finished college and went back. Disability in one area doesn’t mean you don’t have strong abilities in others. We are each more than a single label or diagnosis.

 

If I could go back, I would tell my twenty-year-old-self—I know you can’t see past this now. It seems to mar your life, to irrevocably screw up your plans, your dreams.  It seems to shatter every truth you knew about who you are and what you’re capable of. Later that afternoon, as you sit on the beach, pen in hand, pages rippling in the forceful wind—you will make a pivotal choice—to turn to, not away from Jesus in this day of pain and fear. You chose not to get bitter, cynical, or self-pitying—and by His grace you live that out. Sure, you have moments of agony and deep fear—but your roots are strong—to him be the glory.

 

Ten years from now you will be thankful for this day—you won’t wish it away, dread waking up and putting your aids in, live in constant fear of losing the rest of your hearing or not having batteries for your aids. You won’t hide your aids under your hair—you’ll again experience the freedom of wearing your hair up—exposing those ears, knowing that the people who can’t see past them don’t deserve your energy anyway. Ten years out, you will be so grateful for loss—for you have gained so much-perspective, empathy, compassion for the hurting—that far outweighs any loss of your physical hearing. You’ll smile to think how this was made for you—chosen in love to strengthen, EQUIP—not hinder, the life you live. Your eyes will glimmer as your mind fills with pictures of how this loss is gain—from relating to many scared parents with a fresh Autism diagnosis, to the way your niece gently pulls back your hair and in awe and joy exclaims “you got my ears too!”

 

 

Ten years from now you will read scriptures like “Those who sow in tears shall reap with shouts of joy! He who goes out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy, bringing his sheaves with him” (Psalm 126) and your heart will smile with an understanding and joy—fulfilling this verse and knowing its truth. Ten years from now, the once overwhelmingly painful anniversary will have faded to one of bittersweet gratitude—for now you have those sheaves—the harvest of suffering that reminds you pain in this life is birth pains. Trembling 20-year-old-self—this diagnosis you think is ending your life—is actually the greatest beginning.

beholding love 2021-reflections

 

Beholding love- like every theme year, has looked different than I anticipated. It has actually been more about beholding the love from God, myself, and family and friends. It’s been about receiving help, not defining myself or my place by being the one giving it. As I reflect, I’m astounded by the generosity of my parents, family, and friends this year. I have been mostly unemployed- half the year. The first half by choice- taking time to write my book, do intensive early EMDR counseling for trauma, and continuing 2020’s theme of “abundant rest”. The latter part of this year due to mandates and a shift from special education and direct client-care to focusing on writing/project managment/content creation.  It’s weird to be “starting over” career wise, but with experience and technical/content writing experience specific to Behavior Analysis and Special Education/curriculum. It’s been awhile since I’ve been a beginner, and the applying to jobs is draining. Thankfully I have a  wonderful part time job writing content for social media through a friend I met years ago! I’m hopeful for what is to come.

 

I’d be dishonest if I didn’t admit I had hoped it would mean romance too. Something I have longed for. Aside from a few dates, I’ve been mostly single this year. But, I also believe that this year has been one of healing and preparation. I’m grateful for the space to look at my relationship patterns, my attachment style, and to heal from old wounds, remove old ways of seeing and approaching intimacy. And hey, there’s still 2 weeks left, haha!

I was able to travel the later part of the year too; and was such a gift and an opportunity to receive and to be cared for—to behold love in tangible ways. In mid-October I was able to spend time with my grandpa, aunt, and cousins in Iowa as well as to see my aunts and cousins in Minnesota. I was able to relate to and connect with family in ways I think I had been more closed off to in the past, and it was encouraging and life-giving.

Similarly, I travelled to Boise, Idaho the end of October; and then Fort Worth, Texas the first week in December. In bot of those trips I was refreshed and encouraged to be in new cities and surrounded by old friends. Beholding love looked like accepting the generosity of paid-for meals, car loans, and hospitality. I was revived by the laughter, encouraging chats, and the change of scenery-and the hope for putting roots in one of those places soon!

Beholding love looked a lot like receiving this year. To have open hands and an expectant heart that my past was not going to repeat itself. To assume the best of myself and others. To believe that healing is possible, to lean into the sore areas of my soul and story, and to turn the light on in the shadows of trauma memories. Most recently, it looked like embracing that safety and rest IS here. That beholding means I don’t have to always be alert or figuring things out. Beholding love was exemplified last week when, after a counseling session, I was able to really rest the next day. To have freedom from the life-long pressure to “figure things out” and to just be. To let go of trying to control or to figure out my next steps—most likely moving out of state, focusing more on writing.

Beholding love looked like leaps of faith, trusting my gut, going out on a limb with bravery and prayer. It looked like preaching to myself-reminders of who God is, what He has promised, and trusting him to “hem me in, before and behind”. It looked like bravely sharing of my heart- self-publishing my first book, asking for help-financially and practically. I beheld love when faced with decisions by looking at what I would regret the most—the wondering if I didn’t take the risk or the possible outcomes. This was a big part of the trips I took, making time to paint and draw with my non-dominant hand (I’ve always been sort-of ambidextrous); and reaching out to people-like asking for help, giving a copy of my book to: Joanna and Chip Gaines’ son, chatting with Harry Connick Jr. on Instagram, dying my hair pink, and applying for jobs out of state and in new fields.

Beholding love has meant receiving-beholding what *IS* already present around me-the love of God, my family and Friends, and the many daily blessings. I guess you could say, I beheld love.

It's okay, let go- April 22,2020

found this poem in a forgotten word docuemnt from spring of last year. 

It's okay to let go,

Of who you were taught to be

A bright-eyed, vibrant girl,

Who worked hard to live up to what they wanted to see

 

It's okay to let go

Of the fear of living a perfect life

For the attempts will stifle and strangle

And be ridden with shame and strife.

 

It's okay to let go

Of who you thought you should be

Bearing the weight of expectations

And never liking what you see

 

It's okay to let go

Of pretense and platitudes you speak

The ones that threaten in the darkness

Shaming you for not living what you seek

 

It's okay to let go

Of the words spoken over you

Ones that shaped you out of fear

Of what you could become

Are not the voice you now can hear

 

It's okay to let go

And to discover with eyes anew

Listening to the One who created and formed

The applauded and beautiful you.

 

It's okay to let go

And hear what He has to say

Clearing away the lies that bound you

Calling you to a new way.

 

It is in the letting go,

that you become okay

Trusting that the God who made you

Will help you hear what He’s going to say

 

You are loved and you are okay

Because He makes you new

Not through fear or intimidation

But by walking alongside you

 

It’s okay, let go

He’s guiding you to who you’ll be

A bright-eyed and vibrant woman

No longer fearful; and living free.

learning to walk

 

The tone of her words were all to familiar. Laced with fear and doubt-certain that she was the problem-if only she could get herself out of the way—be perfect in how she followed God. She obviously cares so deeply about doing the right thing- using words like “I just want to do what God wants me to”…”to not mess it up”.

I used to relate to this woman- I have many a fear-filled journal where I poured out my anxious heart that was so certain that if I just did the right things and got myself out the way, then God would bless me. Then I wouldn’t have the same struggles. What if.

But what if, its not about getting yourself out the way- living in fear that the next step you take will be your downfall? What if God wants you to trust yourself. To trust that the Holy Spirit really is with you—that yes, you have a flesh, but dear soul, you are being renewed day by day.

What if its less about a tightrope and more about learning to walk. Tightropes are about performance, teetering where literally one small move could send you over the edge. You’re isolated up on the rope, and everyone is watching.

But when you’re learning to walk—there’s guidance, there’s cheers for each brave step you take. Your parents near-ready to step in and help you, encourage you, and to be with you as you learn. You would never tell a baby to give up walking because they fell a few times—you would see that as proof that they’re on the right journey.

What if, God looks at our walk with him like that? Knowing we’ll teeter, fall, be a bit dramatic at times, and get distracted by our surroundings. And this doesn’t cause him to shame us or walk away-but to cheer us on-to give the support and guidance we need knowing each step and fall are a part of the process. He wants us to have courage-because even with the sprit within us- We have choice. We take the steps. Our part matters greatly.

So I think we miss out on so much God wants to do  and celebrate within us when we think it would be better if we “just got out of the way”. What if, God wants all you to show up as you’re learning to walk. To not be afraid of yourself and to see your days as a circus with judgement, but as a gym with growth. Each step and exercise doesn’t bring less of you- it refines what’s already there.

So, dear sister, may you bring your whole self to what you’re learning to walk in today. Whether you tend to be like Mary or Martha-remember God was friends with both of them. We need what you have to offer the world. May you be encouraged that it is in bringing yourself fully into what God has placed before you that you learn to walk through the difficulties around you. We need who you are today—and God is with you and for you-cheering you on as you learn to walk into all He made you to be.

luna's friends

 Recently I've written a couple of fan fiction pieces centered on the Harry Potter world. Since covid started my friend from university, John, has been reading the series and read one of my stories. you can watch it here. 

Luna's Friends 

“one last freckle should do it” Luna thought to herself as she delicately dotted the red-haired boys face. She knew her father wouldn’t mind that she painted her wall. He was always creating something. Smiling up at her artwork, Luna thought to herself “Its so nice to have friends”. She washed her brushes grabbed her bag and headed out the door.

Luna always enjoyed her times down by the creek, exploring the wildflowers, looking for water nymphs and swishbucket dryads. Ever since she was little, Luna learned to keep herself company. Her father was distractable, first because of memories of her mother, and then from the effort to ignore them. Sometimes she felt as though her mother was a breath away, but as soon she acknowledged it, the sense was gone.

“well now, you don’t have to hide from me”, she whispered encouragingly to the frantic lizard as it darted behind a rock.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps and looked up to see her father approaching her, but worlds away in his own thoughts.

“Father look, the dryads have returned”- she pointed to a ring of wildflowers rustling in the wind.

“Oh, yes, dear. Lovely—” he absent-mindedly replied, then added “tea is ready, I thought we might have it in the garden” even from here, the clumps and bangs of the quibbler going to press echoed along the fields.

After tea, luna returned to her room, admired her painting, and began to pack to return to school.

Friends, she thought. Real friends. Something she almost gave up believing in.

All her life she knew she was different. That she could see what others missed, from gillynymphs to drumpleskitters that roamed along the river, and the belief in creatures her father wrote about, but few had ever seen. Most people are afraid of what they don’t understand, and that fear comes out in all sorts of anger and spite. Luna often thought that the world would be a kinder place if people were more curious than close-minded.  She talked freely of what she saw and knew—her father taught her the value of words and expression. Even when she was met with ridicule, Luna learned to ignore their stares, confusion, and suppressed giggles. It wasn’t that she didn’t care, it just wasn’t enough to make her change.

Neville and Ginny were always kind to her. He asked questions about creatures he’d never heard of and he knew what it was like to miss a parent. She didn’t mind that he was forgetful- it gave her a chance to talk more about the creatures she loved. Ginny never laughed at her. Walking down the halls, kids stared and snickered—but one look from Ginny and the giggles stopped and people dispersed.

Dumbledore’s army gave Luna more than courage for the battle she knew was coming—it gave her the love of friendship that made the battle worth fighting.

As she flipped through an old quibbler, Luna glanced up at the painting. She smiled up at the faces that grinned back. “friends” she thought, the best creatures in the world.

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?”

2019 blog-card

While I’ve gotten fewer than normal Christmas cards this year, I think social media makes it less of a thing because we can so easily keep up with people. However, as a 32 years young single professional, who has lived through a milestone year- I thought I would give it an electronic go.

Each year, I pick theme words that I hope will encompass and guide the year. For 2019 my words were becoming free (more on that in my previous post). Basically, this year was a lot of peeling the layers back on my habits, my health, and where I find my identity and purpose.

 It was a year of mountains and valleys (quite literally- as I hiked most of the Snoqualmie Alpine lakes hiking trails over the summer with my dear friend Lis, with other friends joining us at times). I learned physical my limits and pushed past them- our longest hike was 11.4 miles in a day, and also learned to respect and love my body and emotions—listening to them as indicators of what I needed to grow and heal. Including continued chiropractic care-- I have officially regained 10 decibels of hearing! 

This year was also one of prioritizing my health—physically, spiritually, mentally, and emotionally.  As I look back I can see how switching up my workouts at the gym, reading new empowering books that have strengthened and stretched my faith,  making time for painting, writing and counseling- have all worked to help me heal and become free.

 

Other highlights of the year include going to several Taproot Theatre plays, meeting one of my favorite authors-Ruth Reichl, visiting family,  playing on my church’s rec. volleyball team, and taking a solo trip to New York City in October.

No life is lived in a vacuum, and I am so grateful for my friends and family. I could not have made it through this summer, and this year of healing and addressing trauma without the support and encouragement of so many. From listening to me process, walking with me-literally and figuratively, and simply spending time with me or sending an encouraging word—often right when I thought I couldn’t keep going—I’m eternally grateful.

One aspect of becoming free is acknowledging that I have been in the “helper” role most of my life—especially the last 12 years in my career in special education and as an applied behavior analyst. I am so grateful to be equipped to work with these families and their amazing children. But the old adage is true—you can’t pour from an empty cup. And my cup was nearly dry for a lot of this year. While I derive so much joy and meaning from my career—there are seasons for stepping back, resting, and refocusing—and mine has arrived. 

As I look to the new decade, my new theme words for 2020 are “Abundant rest”. I pray this next year is one of rest and hope for each of you.