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?”

love, legacy, and stature.

I can't believe its been so long since I'v posted. I guess my writing has sort of migrated over to the instagram caption route ( instaelise213). However, my days have been filled with work, trying new recipes, and taking time to hike and enjoy the gorgeous pacific north west summer.

This last week was one that reminded me of legacy living--and being reminded that where I am today is purposed and good. It's not a "cute" life until (fill-in-the-blank-life-goal) happens, its a called and good life. NOW.

I went on a gorgeous hike, met fellow hikers- graduates from nothwest university and beginning teachers (what are the chances?!) and spent time exploring ehe snoqualmie area. There's just something about getting outside that clears my head--the journey and goal of hiking is such as metaphor for life-- the winding path with obstacles, fellow travelers, the gorgeous views, and the goal of working hard to reach a summit--all mirror life.

Later in the evening I attended a delightful and poignant musical, "Sweet land" at a local theatre (check it out!)  And again I was reminded of legacy as the story centered on the beginning of Inga's life in minnesota (a German immigrant after world war 1) when she hopes to marry a Norwegian farmer.

My great grandma came over from Norway, and settled as a farmer in minnesota..so the family ties weren't hard to see. but what struck me about the story was Inga's determination--and the flash foward to the 70's and her legacy, which reminded us that we never really know how our lives will impact generations to come. I was reminded that my legacy has already started. I may not have a family of my own, but my life and story matter today.

And then, today, with legacy on my mind I prayed for an opportunity to see how my life and my story could impact another.  Then, I had a conversation with a mom and daughter that was 17 years in the making.

17 years ago I was 13, and had been told by a doctor that I was done growing. There's enough to be insecure about at 13, but thinking you're done growing, at under 5 feet- is not usually one of them. I vividly remember that day-- thinking that life as I knew it was over. that it would literally shorten my future--that my normal dreams would be impossible--that I would fall too short (pun intended).

But today, I was able to look a fellow under-five-footer in the eye, and have an empathy born out of experience. Today, she was me 17 years ago. I couldn't help but be grateful for the opportunity to share in her experience. To let her know its okay to be sad, to see it as a loss. To feel like it makes you different and its not what you thought life would be. later, talking with the mom, I was able to confidently say, that while this may feel like a loss right now (and it is in its own way) it will actually be an important part of her story-- its not an accident that she'll be short, and it's not a hindrance to the life that she'll be called to--rather it will be a foundation. Nothing we go through is wasted. Your experiences are purposed for your life--and to impact those around you. Even if it takes 17 years to see it.

When Orpah leaves

  No, I didn’t misspell Oprah’s name.

 I’m talking about a character in the Bible. Orpah and Ruth were sister-in-laws who left their homes in Moab with their mother-in-law, Naomi, after all three were widowed and there was a famine. Desolate much? 

At one point Naomi tells her daughter-in-laws to go back home, go back to their families, and leave her.At that moment they both had a choice, and Orpah turned back while Ruth refused to leave Naomi. Up until that point, their paths had converged, who knows how many memories they shared in the decades married to their husbands, the time cooking, sharing holidays, countless memories of a life lived together. When Orpah left, she didn't just leave them in the present, it also changed their ideas of the future. It could be easy to give Orpah a bad rap, but we all deal with loss and stress and life-change differently. some reach out, others retreat in. And one life change can effect so many others. 

While most of the story focuses on Ruth and Naomi and the loss of their husbands, tonight I was struck by the loss of Orpah—Ruth and Naomi lost her in choosing to moving forward. They lost another dear family member who had been a part of their lives for decades, and the loss stung in a new way because it involved choice and the loss of a living person. Break ups are devastating in their own way, because one or both decide to leave, choosing to sever a relationship. C.S. lewis rightly articulated that in grief we don’t just lose the person, we lose the way they impacted our lives in a million little ways. The silence can be deafening when the phone no longer lights up with messages, and the calendar is full of everything but time with that person.

Naomi and Ruth lost that closeness with Orpah when they each chose a different path. Over the last few years, I’ve had to learn to keep walking forward when friendships are walked away from, sometimes I've been Orpah, other times I've been Ruth and Naomi--surprised and saddened by another's choice to walk away. It is so bittersweet to say goodbye, but at the same time, when I'm grieving the death of what a friendship was, the blossoming of new friendships has encouraged me.

 It may be morbid to say that people will always leave you—but I think in accepting that there is actually more freedom to enjoy and savor the way people impact your life. This also frees you to let go of people, and to invite them into your story in a healthy way. It’s not a lack of commitment, its more about perspective. We all need a tribe---no one can go alone--Orpah returned to those she new from her past, and Ruth and Naomi walked forward together into a future with new community and family.

 When I remember that friendships can change in a blink of an eye, it helps me to appreciate them in the moment—embracing the blessing of the laughter and camaraderie today, knowing that my future and acceptance is secure even if this friendship doesn’t last. While I may lose an Orpah, God has always been faithful to provide the next Naomi—someone who will be pivotal for the next steps of my journey.  

The blessings of brokenness-- a life's example

You’re happy with the life you have, aren’t you? My dad remarked with a smile as I sank into familiar chair. His affirmation caught me off guard, as I looked up he continued “I can see it in your countenance, and the way you talk about your work and your friends. I know there’s things you still want in life, but I can see a new acceptance and joy”.

His acknowledgment of a reality I hadn’t yet spoken aloud, freed me to write these words with confidence. The things that I went through in 2016-leaving a spiritually abusive church system, moving on my own, starting at a new job—sure felt like the end of a lot of things for me. And in many ways, that was true. I did lose familiarity and years of friendships, I lost an erroneous confidence and complacency, and a legalistic view of God and the church. In being lost, I was found.

Just last night I was reminded of the impact one life of faith can have. I didn’t remember parts of her story, ones that occurred well before our lives intersected, but as her husband eulogized her life, I couldn’t help but smile through my tears that it was her brokenness that led to her most profound impact. What we sometimes think is the end of our journey—the loss of a relationship, our health, our old views—can actually be our greatest message and the avenue by which we reach the world. This woman’s life didn’t impact others because she was perfect, always said the right thing, or was in top physical health. Her life’s impact was in her perseverance and acceptance of what was before her—ever growing faith in the midst of worsening health. She gave us permission to accept brokenness as an opportunity to be put back together in the ways that matter.

I may not currently be facing the obstacles that Dollie did, but my own story is also made beautiful through, not in spite of my brokenness. At the onset of our trials-when a diagnosis or a unilateral decision rips you from familiarity- that seems damn near impossible.  Beauty?!from THIS? We certainly think our circumstances are the exception. But, like Winston Churchill bluntly admonished “if you’re going through hell, keep going”. In the middle of our journey’s it can be hard to see the beauty in our brokenness. When everything is shattered hope seems far off and near impossible. It is in retrospect we see the beauty. Dollie’s life is an example of that; for it is in perseverance we regain strength and hope. And as we take one feeble step after another, gaining ground and strength, we too, will be able to look back in contentment at the blessings of brokenness.

Reflections on my 29th year

Reflections on my 29^th year.
              Tonight as I baked and cleaned, checked off my to-do list, I began to reflect on my 29^th trip around the sun. Each birthday year, August to August I take time to pray and think of a theme phrase or words for the next year. Last years’ were “trust boldly”, which, to be honest, were the last two things I wanted to do. I had just lived through the hell of spiritual abuse, skeptical and timid were more like it.

But today, almost 365 days later, I can’t help but sigh with a sheepish smirk that those two words were exactly what this year of life was about. On my birthday last year I started my job at a new company which has been one of the greatest joys of this year. I didn’t even know how much the stress of barely having enough clients and hours as well as driving all over the city was affecting my quality of life until they were no longer a part of it. My current company has been a prime example of one that is proactive about taking care of employees and seeking to deal with problems instead of hiding them. I have grown much in my practice as I have learned from others around me, and I’m so grateful.

Another way I learned to trust boldly was by beginning to attend a new church. Every brunch and bible study I either sulked in like an emo teenager, or tried to quiet my racing heart. Everything in me told me to run, to shut them out before I could get hurt. But one genuine conversation at a time my heart began to hope, then trust that this place could be different. I’ve made new friends that embody weeping with those who weep and rejoicing with those who rejoice. I’m allowed to be where I am, because everyone else is responsible for themselves—we are alone together—responsible for our choices yet sharing our troubles. These new friends have enabled me to trust boldly.

Today, I trust boldly that I am where I’m supposed to be—my life is not in limbo because I’m single, it’s not less or “cute”—it is purposed and full. I can’t believe I ever felt that way.  In both my work and church I am equipped and trusted to use my knowledge and gifts for others. My career isn’t seen as a hindrance but a gift. I can trust BOLDLY that I have been called to this vocation and it is my joy.

Lastly, around mid-february, with 6 months left in my 20’s, I started a crazy list of 30 goals by 30—they were divided into categories-head & heart, hope, and health. Some were one time things like funding an adoption, buying a stranger’s meal at a restaurant; others took more planning and time-hiking, reading 10 new books, completing the whole 30. (check the facebook page 30by30 for more details). With days left, I’ve completed around 25 of the 30 but I’m content with my progress. I’ve been humbled by others who have helped me in the process—going on the underground tour, cousins spending the day with me in NYC, and so many others have encouraged me along the way. 30 by 30 has taught me to pace myself and enjoy the process. Because the goals weren’t about completing—they were about becoming. Becoming the woman that is intentional with eating and exercising, taking time to be with others and using my resources for them. It was about becoming who I want to BE in my 30s-mindful, balanced, and intentional with my time, talents, and present in the lives and community around me.

So, as I look ahead to the next decade, I want to have peace in the process. I am not responsible for the choices leaders and others make. I want to have peace in the in-between—tangible grace to be imperfect and humble, working to improve where I can and accepting my limitations. I want to have peace in the process of dating, working with my clients, equipping teachers to educate children with disabilities. I CAN have peace in the process as I trust God boldly-one thing at a time. Thirty and Thriving, indeed.

I'm not waiting for a husband.

I’m not waiting for a husband.
  Yes, you read that right. It’s okay, I’ll give you a minute.

This is not about desire, its about perspective. Do I still dream about marriage and a family—absolutely. I long to be a mother, to have faces to names I’ve pondered and prayed over. But I don’t want to spin my wheels in life until I’m pushing that stroller. The wife and parent I want to be starts with today-my habits, my choices—they are foundational for the future, yes, but important for today.
Living like I’m waiting implies that I’m not where I should be. If I approach my days thinking that they will some day look different—then I’m not really “all here”—and that robs where I’m called today of my full attention and heart. The waiting mentality implies that right now is not enough—and that causes me to miss “right-now’s” joy. The joy of returning to a place I’ve furnished and made a home after a long and rewarding day of teaching. The joy of being able to “drop everything” if a friend asks. The joy of solitude and study.

So, future husband—I’m not living like I’m waiting for you—because if you come, it will be right on time—and no amount of waiting idly will change that. I want to live loved today—knowing that my heart, my hopes, my heavenly Father holds and knows. He’s called me to this place, this season with just as much tender care and divine appointments as our wedding day. Even though I can’t wait to meet you, should God provide—I’m not living like I’m waiting.

Embrace Love--a year later

Last year on the day before my birthday I was led to the birthday year theme of “embrace love”. At the time it felt ambiguous, flighty even—like, what does that even mean? Oh, maybe I’ll have a relationship, maybe I’ll grow in ministry, maybe…my mental “what-if’s” were endless. I was optimistic that embracing love would bring joy.


A year later, it has—but not at all in the rosy way I expected. Sure, I’ve bloomed in many ways this year—but roses have thorns. Thorns are protection of the bud, for the plant’s health—keeping the unsafe and the unhelpful away. Learning to “embrace love” this year meant blossoms and thorns.

In my professional work when we define a behavior we also define what it isn’t—we give concrete descriptions of the target behavior (e.g. aggression is defined as hitting an object or person with an open or closed fist), while also giving non-examples (e.g. aggression does not include yelling, running away, or lightly tapping a surface with fingertips).


None of my “maybe’s” imagined the “non-examples” of embracing love. But as I look back over the last year, I am so grateful that God in his infinite wisdom began to teach me how to embrace love by also teaching me what love isn’t—and the love to reject. He used hard circumstances where power and position “in the name of love” was mishandled to teach me to recognize His perfect love. He revealed areas of my heart that were prideful, self-sufficient, and clouded by my sin to free me to embrace his love. He healed in the midst of hurt—his is a love that embraces us in our pain and pride and calls us to be healed and humble. His love doesn’t demand devotion or submission. His love doesn’t use fear to manipulate—His love casts out fear. The love I’ve learned to embrace this year is a spoken love—the word became flesh. Speak the truth in love—it must be spoken—truth hurts to heal, faithful are the wounds of a friend. The love I’m learning to embrace is not self-seeking—emboldened by its seeking of the beloved’s best, this love speaks into darkness, tender words from ferocious care. This Love knows that silence is comfortable for the moment but cancer in the long run. Love doesn’t treat people like a number, a dollar symbol, a part of the whole. Love knows that to care for the whole you must care for the one. The Good Shepherd seeks after the one lost sheep—to love well we must love like Him. This is the love that is worth embracing.

The “love passage” in 1^st Corinthians is often read at weddings—yet contextually Paul was yelling at the Corinthians—like a stern Father Paul was embodying the love he was calling them to—patient, kind, NOT self-seeking, rejoicing in the truth. He said the hard things because he had a Holy Spirit inspired love. That’s the greatness of love.

My heart wounds are turning to scars—reminders that healing is possible. I won’t be the same—and that’s a good thing. The Gospel has reminded me this year that the love I want to embrace is a scarred love. A love that entered into the mess of this world, the pain, the brokenness, the abuse—and took it on. Christ is quite literally love embodied. I want to embrace that kind of love—the one that flipped tables instead of sweeping things under the rug. The love that cares too much to stay silent in false unity and comfort—knowing wounds caused by words of truth heal. I want to be love like that— speak to heal, cry out for justice, defend the cause of the poor and needy, encourage the faint-hearted, and be patient with them all. Because as much as love endures it also evokes freedom for the beloved. A love that demands is not love at all—it is control, and power, and abusive—self-love is never selfless.  So as I look back and look forward—I’m grateful for this year of learning to embrace love. I’m thankful that God has allowed hurt to heal and to teach humility—to encourage and remind me that I can embrace love because he perfectly embraces me in his infinite love

Crossing Your Jordan

“Hear, O Israel: you are to cross over the Jordan today, to go in to dispossess nations greater and mightier than you, cities great and fortified up to heaven, ² a people great and tall, the sons of the Anakim,whom you know, and of whom you have heard it said, ‘Who can stand before the sons of Anak?’ ³ Know therefore today that he who goes over before you as a consuming fire is the Lord your God. He will destroy them and subdue them before you. So you shall drive them out and make them perish quickly, as the Lord has promised you…⁶ “Know, therefore, that the Lord your God is not giving you this good land to possess because of your righteousness, for you are a stubborn people. ⁷ Remember and do not forget how you provoked the Lord your God to wrath in the wilderness. From the day you came out of the land of Egypt until you came to this place, you have been rebellious against the Lord”

Deuteronomy 9:1-3,6-7

We all have personal “Jordan Rivers”—pivotal moments where God calls us to move forward, to walk courageously. These  moments often come after wilderness—times of pain, confusion, desolation in our circumstances or hearts. Often we’re fearful to take the next step—to end the relationship, to change our habits. Just like Israel we forget that God goes before us—that it is His power that equips us to walk, to fight our battles, to take the land He’s calling us to. If you’re like me, you do start to think that it’s all on you to make the right decisions, to say the right things, to remain silent—forgetting that it is not by our works that we are even where we’re at today.
I think our wilderness seasons are so pivotal because they forever remind us just how much we need our Savior. When everything around you has crumbled you’re left with the essentials—what you really needed in the first place.

“God has not been trying an experiment on my faith or love in order to find out their quality. He knew it already. It was I who didn't. In this trial He makes us occupy the dock, the witness box, and the bench all at once. He always knew that my temple was a house of cards. His only way of making me realize the fact was to knock it down” (A Grief Observed C. S. Lewis).

It is often in our wilderness seasons that we are humbled and refined. It can feel like punishment but it’s actually the most loving thing to be reminded of what matters. The wilderness prepares us for crossing the Jordan.
 I don’t know what wilderness you’re in—where your heart is parched by pain—but I know that He will not waste it and that it won’t last forever. Our God is the one who made water pour forth from rocks—and he does that with our heart’s too.

Know that your Jordan will come—and that He goes before you, prepares you, is with you, wherever you go.

Though None Go with Me

    "But what about you?" he asked.

 "Who do you say I am?" Mark 8:29

                The last few months have reminded me of this conversation between Jesus and Peter as my own heart has heard echoes of,  “Who do you say I am?”  As I’ve processed and healed and begun to move on, Jesus has gently asked me to revisit who He is—a process that will never end this side of heaven.  The initial confusion and sadness has been an opportunity to restore the joy of my salvation—it has drawn me to Him.  He uses hard things to remind us of His character and call us to rely on it. I can say I believe that He is my strength, my peace—but those are hollow until they’re all you have to hold on to. This year has been one marked by change in my circumstances, my habits, my community. Many nights I’ve fallen asleep praying for Jesus to be my fortress, my clarity, my defender—the way only He can. He has never failed.
                He’s reminded me that he is my hope, He alone is the Author and Perfector of my faith, the Keeper of my Soul. He alone knows my heart. He alone. Though none go with me. He has faithfully uprooted lies, ended harmful thought patterns, and restored dreams. His grace reminds me I’m a work in progress, yet ultimately it is finished. His grace frees me to admit my faults, to look back and repent. His grace beckons me to forgive, to move on, to trust that he leads me beside green pastures and still waters.

                I don’t know what hard things you’re going through today. I don’t know where you feel pressed, almost crushed, persecuted and almost abandoned, struck down seemingly destroyed (2 Corinthians 4:8)—but I know that he meets you there. He was pressed, crushed, persecuted, abandoned, his body was destroyed—for you. When in trials it feels like “none go with you”—remember, He has. He knows. His grace has brought you safe thus far, His grace will lead you home. 

How I want to love you-- a poem

How I want to love you

I want to love you with my smiles,

I’d like to love you with my laugh,

Someday I want to love you with my words—even when we’re mad.

I want to love you with a home of joy,

Filled with memories on well-worn walls,

I want to love you in a second glance as tiny feet run down the halls.

I want to love you with my passions, gifts, and mind-

To equip, encourage, and call you to use your own.

I want to love you by respecting your dreams

walking boldly alongside you- even when it all seems to unwind.

I want to love you with my patience,

I want to love you with my kindness,

I want to love you when it’s not easy, choosing covenant over defiance.

I want to love you in the evening hours

As we pray for Him to lead,

I want to love you each morning,

Reminding you He is all we need.

I want to love you as we serve together,

As we follow where He guides,

I want to love Him with you by my side.

I want to love you for thousands of tomorrows,

Till we meet upon that shore,

I want to love you like our Savior;

Loving you in a way that reminds you to always love Him more.

I want to love you today-

It seems crazy, But it’s true.

I can love you as I love Him who loved me perfectly first-

In what I say and all I do.

I can love you today as I look to Him alone,

I can love you well before we exchange those vows,

I can love you in this solitary day, as I work in my own home,

Knowing who I’ll be someday is shaped by who I am now.

I can love you as I pray,

I can love you as I wait.

I can love you by trusting His timing,

I can love you well by loving those I’m called to today,

This is how I can love you—long before that first date. 

It could be seen as a follow up to This one, 

Let Love in--Part 2

Earlier today I began a separate post, one I hope to share in the, future, but it needs refining.

 I recently borrowed a friend’s copy of “Counterfeit Gods” by Tim Keller.  Read it at your own risk—for your own edification and joy. Throughout the work Keller expounds upon the idea that “the human heart is an idol factory” and how we tend to just deal with the surface idols—money, relationships, work success, instead of looking to the root—what our desire for those things is really pointing to. For instance, you and I could both have money as an idol—something that we find our sole sense of identity, security, and affirmation in. But—I could be using money because it makes me secure and in control of my environment (or so I think) and you could be using money to gain approval—so that others will applaud you and you can know you’re successful. The surface looks the same, but the roots are different.

While the book in its entirety impacted my life, my faith, my views; one section in particular kept coming back to me. In chapter 2, Keller articulates that “love is not all you need” by sharing the stories of Jacob and Leah. Both of them faced life unloved. Jacob spent most of his life looking to others for blessing—he stole the blessing from his twin, was cheated out of the woman he first loved by his father in law, and lived in fear. He was always looking to others to fulfill him and bless him. Likewise, Leah, who the Bible basically calls ugly, lived life in the shadow of her beautiful younger sister. Her own father gave her away in marriage to a man who didn’t love her. She thought she could earn her husband’s blessing and love by having children, but it never worked. In both of their lives they finally turned to God for blessing and love after many unfruitful years of trying to siphon it from others. With the birth of Judah, Leah finally said “now I know God has blessed me”—realizing that all along it was God’s love and favor she had been searching for. Keller further relates that “The text says that when the Lord saw that Leah was not loved, _he_ loved her. God was saying, 'I am the real bridegroom. I am the husband of the husbandless. I am the father of the fatherless”.  In my own life I can see how I have looked to others for acceptance and love—after the early years of being rejected by peers and friends, I spent much of my teenage and early adult years seeking to know that I had true friendships that were like the siblings I never had—I too tried to suck the love out of others or do things for them so they would love me—like Leah I have learned that it never satisfies and pushes others away. There was nothing Leah could do to make Jacob love her more or to make God love her less.  Similarly, Jacob spent his life taking blessing into his own hands—he learned from a young age that he had to fight for it, earn it, and do what it took to get it from others. I too, look back and see how I have spent much of my life trying to earn the unconditional love of God by proving myself to my parents, my bosses, my peers. I thought that if I could just be consistent enough, care enough, share enough—that THEN I would finally be treated that way by others. Like Jacob, I wrestled with others when really, it was God I needed to wrestle with. In Jacob’s story he finally turns to God on the eve of the night that he thinks is his last—his brother Esau is coming toward him and he is certain that this is it—the ultimate rejection by family and retaliation for his past. In the night a man approaches him and they fight—in the midst of it Jacob is told it is God—and instead of fearfully cowering, Jacob clings. He finally fights for the blessing he’s been looking for and tells God that “he won’t let go until You bless me”. As Keller relates “Jacob finally looked to God for blessing”. The approval of others—the encouragement from my parents, the social media rat race, the academic achievement—all of it will fail, all of it is a vicious cycle that never satisfies. People will come through and then fail me, encourage and then tear down.


You see, I do need to let love in—the one who IS love. Who created me to delight in, not deify, the love and approval of others. What we do here is an echo of eternity, the one who loves. It’s time to let Love in. 

Waiting to Exhale

“And Jesus uttered a loud cry and breathed his last, and the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom.”—Mark 15:37

Today is the day Christians remember the death of Jesus—Good Friday. Death…good? A man breathing his last as something that is yearly remembered and celebrated? This contradicts everything we and our culture strive for and celebrate. As people we are drawn to life—longevity, new beginnings, fighting for permanency and life is at the root of most of the things we spend our time, energy, and money on. How can death be good? How can we celebrate a last breath.



We can celebrate because the exhalation ushered in eternity—it is the breath we are waiting for, striving for: Jesus’ last breath brings life.



As I write this morning, stripes of sunshine dancing across my journal—I am reminded of the fact that each person is “waiting to exhale” in some facet of life. We are in a perpetual state of holding our breath—we live expectantly for “the next big thing” something that will finally take our breath away, satisfy, allow us to rest easy and drink in the calm of true rest free from striving. We’re all waiting to exhale something—debt, addiction, loneliness, barrenness—freedom, contentment, ease—all seem one breath away.  We order our lives around obtaining things we think will satisfy—but if we’re honest, the next thing always calls out to us before we’ve cleaned up the confetti from our last achievement. We can never fully catch our breath.



This is part of what makes this Friday, good. We can celebrate Jesus’ death because He is the only man who truly was able to exhale and say—it is finished. In Him we have freedom to exhale today because ultimately—eternally, it is finished. Whether you obtain the things you are striving for today—the job, the ring, the house, the family—in Christ we can ultimately exhale for eternity. May the many times we hold our breath in this life remind us of our assurance in Jesus—who breathed his last for us. Let our waiting to exhale point us to Jesus’ last breath that opened eternity.

Thanking God for the Given

                A couple of years ago I read “OneThousand Gifts” by Ann Voskamp where she discusses the discipline of gratitude in light of communion—how bringing ourselves and our attitudes before God as a way of communion and worship. In that book, she narrates her personal journey of cultivating daily gratitude by writing a list of one thousand things she was thankful for.  After finishing the book, I was inspired to do the same. Tonight, after a difficult week of others’ joys—babies, engagements, work promotions—reminding me of my unfulfilled dreams—I knew I needed to revisit my own list.  It was encouraging to look back almost to the day in 2012 to things I listed as evidences of grace and reasons for gratitude—my grandfather’s voice, cinnamon scented pinecones, clean sheet night, no-lick envelopes, my pastor’s kid’s wisdom and thoughtfulness, eating popsicles—almost too many to number.

                In today’s social media world, it’s easy to get caught up in numbers—likes, followers, re-tweets, and “friends”. It’s a hamster wheel of futile attempts for adoration and applause—there will never be enough. Similarly, if I approach miles stones in life as simply accomplishments to check off my “life-long-to-do-list” I will always have the next thing in line—and will miss out on the blessing of the moment, the place I am. Companies like Apple have capitalized on the human compulsion for “the next big thing”—we are compelled to look ahead, to have the latest and greatest. But where does this really leave us?


Striving never ceases when our lives are based on what’s next instead of what is here.

 
As these thoughts permeated my disquieted and discontent heart this weekend, I was reminded of Jim and Elisabeth Elliot, who waited years to get married due to their personal convictions that marriage was not something to rush into because their single lives were purposed and full—they were expectantly patient—that God would work his will in his perfect timing, and that it was worth waiting for that. In one letter Jim related to Elisabeth:

 “… We may imagine what it would be like to share a given event and feel loss at having to experience it alone. But let us not forget—that loss is imagined, not real. I imagine peaks—when I think of doing things together, but let not the hoping for it dull the doing of it alone. What is, is actual—what might be simply is not, and I must not therefore query God as though he robbed me—of things that are not. Further, the things that are belong to us, and they are good, God-given, and enriched. Let not our longing slay the appetite of our living!” (shadow of the Almighty p.160)


Exactly. I am grateful for the reminders to thank God for the given—the many blessings I do have in my life today. I don’t want to miss out on today’s joys and purpose because I am too focused on future hopes and blessings. In another book, Elisabeth relates how she personally prays through the implications of The Lord’s Prayer, and when it comes to “our daily bread” she reminds her reader to “thank God for the given, [and to not allow] the not given to spoil it”. If I knew what God does, I would be grateful for where I am, what have, and what is withheld.  May I daily live in thankfulness for the given.

The shrinking shadows of loss--7 years out

Today marks 7 years since I sat trembling in an ENT room while the doctor calmly, carefully, and as gently as he could changed my life. You have significant hearing loss and need to wear hearing aids.

I could almost hear my world quieting around me as my heart and mind fought the news. NO! Not me, I'm not even OLD yet. I internally screamed in fear, anger, disbelief--why me? why now? As I struggled with the weight of the news and the uncertain future--I couldn't help but feel like my life was over.

In some ways, it was--in the past 7 years a lot about my "pre-hearing aid wearing days" have become memories--swimming without thinking twice, checking the weather before I go for a run, getting anxious in dimly lit rooms or when I have to speak up about wanting captions, praying my alarm is loud enough to wake me but not scare the neighbor's dogs. Even spending nights alone in the house bring a lot of anxiety--because of course we'll be broken into the night I'm keeping watch. None of these were worries until 7 years ago. As the years have added up, I've started to realize those fears have their right place--a balance of realism and rationality have tempered them. After all the practice of them leaping to my mind and snatching my joy--I've learned to accept that they are just my personal tangible reminders that life is fragile, the rest of my body will fail me at some point too--but living in fear of future failures robs me of so much today.

But in more ways than I can count, my loss has given me riches. It has allowed me to enter into the suffering of those around me--I actually DO know what it's like to be given a diagnosis that changes everything--one you certainly didn't ask for. I'm grateful that this allows me to understand the turmoil of loss in the families I work with--the complexity of mourning what was or what wont ever be, but yet still wanting the world to know how blessed you are by what you DO have. I know how hard it can be to ask for help--to not what to be labeled as helpless, different, or less. But as time has gone on, I've learned to bite the bullet and speak up, to share, to invite others in--for our sufferings, just like our joys, are most influential and inspiring when they're shared. Ive recognized the tendency of my own heart to want to prove I'm self-sufficient--but in reality none of us live in a vacuum. Every expert was once a beginner.

So today, seven years into this journey--the shadows are still there, but now they're almost like old friends. Each one specifically pricks my heart in a way that I need it to be. I need to be reminded that my body will fail and die. I need to remember that the real inadequacy is the inability to ask for help, not the strength to admit it. The relational fears of being alone--in this journey and in life--still creep up late at night--but then I'm encouraged by the memories of friends who now simply put on the captions, let me sit in the front seat, or ask if I can hear. Every fear is an opportunity for my faith to grow--for me to trust that God leads me beside still waters, He restores my soul. These shadows are gifts.
After all, shadows can't exist without light.

More than a coffee shop

     The scream and hum of the espresso machine, the chatter of friends, the smell of fresh rain, the clink of mugs on tables, all surround me. This place is full of life—in all walks and seasons. From celebratory meetings, to the start of fresh love, and passed tissues and encouraging hand grasps. Life is full of juxtapositions and contradictions. The coffee shop is a microcosm of culture. It reflects the world and the city it exists in. you can tell a lot about someone from what they order, how they treat strangers, customers, children, the disabled and elderly. The way a person studies—tuning out the clang and the clatter.

                The attire of the patrons, the design of the interior, the menu—all reflect what is normal, valued, and es”steamed” –organic, local, gluten-free. This place exemplifies my culture, my city.

                But it also reflects me. The things I prioritize—relationships, academic study, being a part of my culture—knowing and interacting with those I attend church with, live beside, the ones who also call this place home. The way I view those different than me, the way I put others first, what I choose to drink and eat—all apparent in this place. How do I respond to the slow orderer, the homeless person with a stench, the mom with an overflowing and shrieking stroller? This place, Burien Press, is where I press into Burien—where I begin to know the homeless by name, the giggles from the stroller, the priorities of those around me. If I hope to influence my culture, I must know it. I have to know to understand and to speak into the lives around me. This step can be as easy as sharing a cup of coffee.

Selfish Love

                This last week several things have changed: my age, my employment status, and my outlook. As I celebrated with friends, I couldn’t help by drift in to reverie about the last year, and the one to come. In the midst of sweet notes, thoughtful gifts, and meals around the city, my mind kept being drawn back to the subject of love.

                A week ago yesterday my small group had a wonderful discussion about love.  Each of us brought our unique experiences, backgrounds, and ideas about that precious four letter word. There are so many ways it is expressed and received. We all ask, “what is love” and our vulnerable hearts whisper “baby don’t hurt me, no more” based on our history and hurts.  Throughout the discussion we each shared our views of God’s love—and related the difficulties of understanding and mirroring his perfect love. In the week that has passed, my heart and mind have mulled over the morsels from that night—a stew of self-reflection, inspiration, and conviction.

                Last night, in the midst of a large group, made up of mostly married couples, I began to really realize how selfish my love has been. Looking back—reflecting on my early 20’s, I couldn’t help but see just how unlike Jesus my love has been. Instead of loving the people around me because I am loved, I loved them to be loved. I wanted affirmation, approval, acceptance. I wanted to receive, not give.  I wanted to prove that I was loveable and worthy of being known.  It has been quite the humbling 24 hours to realize this—the depth of my selfishness and pride. But I’ve also been so grateful. Grateful that I’m acknowledging this now, not when I’m married (which I’m sure I WILL have to confront, daily).

Moreover, I am retrospectively filled with gratitude for God’s perfect timing. I am so broken by my selfishness—that cries out to be affirmed, to be acknowledged, to be the center of the world. Even in the last few weeks I can see how selfish I’ve been.  I can look back to my college years and see the wake of personal heartbreak brought on by the fact that my selfish love hadn’t been reciprocated. It has been simultaneously freeing and sorrowful. By God’s grace I don’t want to continue in the pattern of getting to know people so I can be known, of asking so I can share, of giving so I can receive. I want to grow in the grace of unselfish love—that seeks to know because I am known, to share because God shared his son, to love because I am loved.

Wanting to be noticed

               It was while I was scrolling through my pinterest boards, looking for some witty quote or funny picture; something that grabbed my attention, made me laugh or think about a profound truth—that I realized the action was a glimpse of how I want to be noticed.

So much of what we do in life is to be applauded, to be noticed—to get a pat on the back, a “like”, a recognition that our presence is perceived, appreciated. I’m willing to go so far as to say that EVERYTHING we do is to be noticed—we gain or lose weight, change our hair, write a blog post, pursue that degree, date that guy, whatever it takes to share life with someone. We yearn for unity, common ground, a group, a message, a place in the world.

The sad truth is that each moment of attention is fleeting—“the Rachel” becomes a 90’s-has-been-fad, the relationship sours, the weight comes on—and we’re left back at square one. Now what—how can I grab people’s attention, how can I keep it, how do I know I am valued, when have I done enough? These questions plague and drive us. What’s the point?

As I bit into a burrito, the simply profound, and maybe ridiculous thought hit me—I am noticed and loved—Jesus knows I love chicken burritos, he knows my desires, my heart, my motivations (the good, bad, the downright ugly) and still keeps me as the apple of his eye.

I may not have the flattest abs, the letters in front of my name, the family I hope to have—but I am still loved, cherished, noticed.

“It’s not you, it’s me”—February 8, 2014

                It’s me—writing in sweats, watching soccer on a Saturday. It’s me, wondering how many more single Valentine’s days I’ll have—made brighter from the hugs of the children I work with and the annual bouquet from my Dad. I sit here writing instead of studying—I can’t clinch my fists when my heart needs to breathe. It’s me, looking back at what I could have said or done differently—knowing I grasped at straws, said stupid things, took that extra sip. It’s easier to look back and regret the smallest things that must have doomed instant connections, instead of brushing them off and knowing that “tomorrow is always fresh, with no mistakes in it”. So, it’s not you, it’s me.

                It’s not you—the ones that I look back and give a grateful sigh that a conversation or a friendship was all that I have to regret. It’s not you—the ones who sat in friendships, didn’t clarify—or couldn’t because you did even know. Naw, it’s not you from the past that I miss —everything happens for a reason.

                It’s me. Knowing that my life HAS started—it has purpose, joy, and so much love—right now. It’s me knowing that God has blessed me in numerous ways—and someday, maybe, you’ll be a part of that. It’s me, not expecting prince charming or a romantic comedy—although, let’s be honest—there will be lots of romance and comedy. I know you’ll have chinks in your armor and I’ll have jewels missing from my tiara. I know that it will be a beautiful battle to fight for unity, clarity, honesty. I know there will be days that are more comedic then romantic—where a glass of wine and a prayer are the ways to end the chaotic and clumsy day. But today, it’s me—single but satisfied that someday, maybe—it’ll be we.

I am not a single woman—January 14,2014

                “Whatever it is that is holding you back, you have to let go of the old patterns and replace them with a new one”—Jillian Michaels prodded a teary-eyed contestant. As I watched from my couch I was struck by two things—one, the ever increasing awareness of just how much the principles of my master’s program really are applied in real life—and two, how much Jillian’s words were applicable to me.

                It is so easy to get tunnel vision—to get in a rut of the days, the degree, the routine introduction you roll out at parties or when you run into a blast from the past. I’m in a master’s program at the UW, yeah, it’s busy…nope, still single, yeah, living with my parents is alright, yeah, definitely saving a lot of money. 

                What you choose to say when you first meet someone or are describing your current life to someone from the past, says a lot about how you define yourself.

                Those conversations echo your self-talk, self-concept, and what matters about you…”student, still single, still at home”—we all have mantras that hold us back.

                As the contestant conquered her fears, Jillian’s words encouraged me to remember I am more than the meet and greet conversations. My status is not my worth. They things I tell about myself are just about me—parts but not everything. I realized that my descriptions, and more importantly—my self-talk—were holding me back from really appreciating the gift that this season is.

                I am in the season of being a student, single, still at home—but those things are where, not who or what I am. The reasons are valid—something I, and many other twenty-somethings don’t have to feel embarrassed about or victimized by.

                Tonight, I am choosing to not be defined by where I am. I am so much more than the status of my career, my relationship, or my address. By the grace of God I am not my past and by his sovereign grace I am not defined by where I am. I am not a single woman, I’m a woman who is single, a student, a woman saved by grace. I can look ahead to the future and choose contentment today—not for where I am but whose I am.

Every Gift has a Glitch—Embracing Who You Are with Humility—August 19th

               It was a warm and breezy afternoon as I sat and poured out pained and anxious fears for a friend. It seems so obvious to me, I cried. I just don’t want this to go the way it’s looking.

In a break in my worried and love-based rant, my dad sighed, looked at me and admonished, “Elise, you have a personality that sees things clearly and precisely in black and white. You always have. You speak the truth about situations and people don’t like that. It’s a difficult gift and place for you to be in and calling for you to have because people have to make a choice when they’re confronted with the truths you see—and many wont like you for that. But, its how you’re wired to operate”.

As I let those words sink in, I then turned to my mother, asking her if she thought I was too judgmental—if I should “tone myself down” in a way. I know I’m human, fallible, I don’t know the whole story and I have to live out my gifting in humility.

After a thoughtful pause, my mother related, “well, I agree with your father, and I think that because you are gifted to see the world and situations in a clear and “black and white” way it can often come across as lacking grace”.

Every gift has a glitch. Yes, I may be wired with a quick-thinking, processing and “judging” mind that weighs and interprets with speed—but I have to wield it with grace. Your greatest gift is also your weakness. Achilles had his heel, Pandora had her box.

Whether we downplay our gifts with “oh, I’m not REALLY….” or proclaim them—it’s prideful. The first is often an attempt at seeking affirmation and approval from others, the latter reveals insecurity. Lewis articulated that true humility “isn’t thinking less of yourself, it’s thinking of yourself less” (Screwtape Letters). Denying the way I’m wired and the good aspects of it, does nothing for my or other’s growth—every part of the Body matters.  My discernment is needed—but it must be tempered with grace.

Today is a different sunny afternoon and I’m asking for forgiveness. If I’ve hurt you by lacking humility, patience, and grace in conversation, advice-giving, or in writing—forgive me. In order to be heard I must speak the truth in love and entrust the outcome to Christ. I must share in light of grace and in humility that acknowledges the truth that my gifting—and yours too—are mere echoes of the gift-giver. May we walk together in humble grace.