2019 round up-becoming free

Every December I pick a theme for the next year, or rather, it feels like the theme picks me. Through prayer, reading, and many other things, without fail a word or phrase bubbles up in the midst of the holidays, echoing in my heart that this is the way to come. When becoming free surfaced last December, I had no idea what the next 365 days would hold. I knew it was an invitation—but to what exactly?

Initially, I knew it would be about boundaries and choices- daily deciding that the little habits matter, that nothing is wasted, and that freedom is often fought for. It would be a process and a marathon, not a sprint.

Freedom isn’t a result, it’s a way of being. It’s a progression, a becoming. It is just as much about the freedom to DO something as it is the freedom to abstain. (here’s lookin at you, alcohol…). In a culture that cries for excess, indulgence, and MORE, freedom often whispers of contentment, enjoyment, and saying when you’ve had enough. It looks like intuitive eating and showing up at the gym. It looks like showing up for my therapy sessions, and relaxing watching a movie.  It looks like staying in more, and intentionally setting up time with life-giving friends. It tastes like a good cup of coffee, feels like a cozy blanket, and sounds like the sigh of a deep breath when you break the surface in after a dive.

And what a dive it was. Becoming free is not for the faint of heart. It is a struggle, like the butterfly ripping through the cocoon. The wings are strengthened in the struggle—what a perfect metaphor. While my next post will be the usual and comfortable highlight reel of this year, the one we're all fine and dandy scrolling through and liking. It would be a disservice to only post what is palatable. And I don't want to cover up what an intense battle this year was on almost every level (mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually). But of course, who stops to take a picture when you can’t see through tears, anxiety is pulsing and paralyzing, and you can’t fathom the next day—what hashtag is good for that?

Becoming free meant a fight to break free- from self-defeating patterns, old relationships, and the trappings of complex trauma. It meant facing my fears, naming them, and daring to think in new ways. It looked like asking for help instead of being the helper. It looked like setting boundaries- especially with myself.

My birthday year words (August to August) were “love bravely” and boy did I have to love bravely in the midst of becoming free. Many Christian circles will flinch and “tongue click” at the mention of self-compassion and self-love. But God called creation good, and we are made in His image, we are to honor and love creation—which includes ourselves.

 I am free to love God and love myself- God commands us to love our neighbors as ourselves. How can I love anyone else well if I can’t love myself well? If I don’t first practice “patience, kindness, gentleness, self-control, humility, keeping no record of wrongs, tempering my temper—by listening and being mindful of what is underlying the anger, rejoicing with truth, protecting, trusting, hoping and persevering”—with myself, how on earth can I expect to do that well in relationship?  Yes, God enables this as he works in and through me, but this is in no way a passive process.

As I look ahead, continuing the process of becoming free. I’m content to be in the middle- continuing to heal, grow, rest, and be restored. To be open to relationship, being known, and to know others. To be brave in love, to persevere, to become free.

The hope in healing

"Stretch out your hand"
"Pick up your mat and walk"
"What do you see?"
"Little Girl, arise"

In all of these situations where Jesus healed, the people had been rendered helpless. Seen as a lost cause. Shame and futility riddled their conditions and confined them.
In giving them actions within the healing-- Jesus was healing that helpless aspect of their condition. He was redeeming their volition, their ability to move, impact their environment, giving them healing to take action again in their lives.
He invited them to be a part of breaking their chains--even the self-imposed mental blocks and resignation that had imprisoned them for years; in some cases, their whole lives.
You know the ones I mean-- "I'll never...", "I can't...", "Things will never change", "I guess my life is just going to be like this".
Yes, sometimes there ARE real barriers and hurdles. But they are not an excuse to give up on life. They are the very means of your life--the how not the hindrance, to your overcoming. Your battle will be your impact on the world.
It may seem like you're the only one, but these stories remind us that all humanity struggles. We all have areas where we can't walk farther, get up, or see how things could change.
Jesus wants to heal you. It may not be in the timeline, place, or way you expect--but the biblical accounts were ordinary days that were changed by extraordinary encounters where Jesus healed holistically.
So take heart, wounded soul, the healer sees you, loves you, and calls you to action, to be a part of your healing story as he equips you, today.

“Do Not let your hearts be troubled”

When I chose the phrase “in peace, on purpose” around this time last year for 2018, I had all sorts of ideas of how they would play out— but I also knew that I really had no idea what this year would bring

Well, sure enough, 12 months later, those words have characterized this trip around the sun—in ways I never could have expected, but in the very manner that I needed them to. For me, they had to go together- peace came as I lived on purpose, and living on and remembering my purpose brought peace. Peace came as I lived intentionally- most days that meant reaching out to friends, exercise, or cooking; and some days that meant getting myself to doctors appointments. To be honest, I think my brain is *just* starting to wrap my head around the reality that I had four non-cancerous tumors removed in August. Like really, that was a thing! From June 14^th to September 14th, I went to the doctor more times than I had in the last 15 years combined. It was a whirlwind. During that time, with painful symptoms, cramped calendar, and long to-do-before-surgery-lists, I journaled a lot about how this was an opportunity for me to let others into my life. I used to suffer from the classic “a helper who doesn’t know how/can’t ask for help”—but when you get in a car accident a week before surgery, it sort of jolts you out of that lie—I had to ask for help, many times this year. It was an invitation- not a weakness—it deepened my friendships to depend on others. Peace came when I purposefully asked for help, began to practice vulnerability, and let others into my pain.

But there was another side to this journey, anxiety. Initially, waves came as I was able to tie symptoms to the pound of tumor making its home in my abdomen—I’m a to-do person—and waiting for my surgery was excruciating at times—especially at night when I couldn’t sleep- I just wanted relief, I couldn’t wait for loeb to be gone. During this time I had appointments around my heart- making sure that my congenital issues were good to go—seeing and hearing my heart beat was a surreal experience. It was a new-to-me process because I was an infant and my “heart story” is one I’ve heard told, but it always felt like the past for me.  Literally five minutes before my surgery, the diligent anesthesiologist talked about some issues—ones that many people have and live fine with (like myself). I had barely heard the words before I was out for surgery. That news took a few weeks to catch up to me. I started having chest pains and anxiety—an overwhelming fear of my heart failing me—how can my “heart not be troubled” when my heart IS the trouble? 

It was in those moments that I gained empathy for people who have chronic anxiety. I am so thankful for my parents and friends who listened—sent encouragement and songs, showed up at the hospital, spoke truth and peace into my current chaos.

This year I deepened my understanding of purpose in my seasons. Loneliness reminded me of the gift of relationship, of the companionship of my savior, of the importance of wise vulnerability and being known. Work showed me some of my deepest flaws and insecurities- and helped me to admit them and grow from them. Surgery reminded me of the gift of health and life and that healing takes time—and that’s okay. Honest reflection in all of these areas led to healing from believing lies about myself, my worth, my relationships, and my purpose.

“let not your hearts be troubled”—how—when we remember that HE is our peace—he gives it to us (John 14:27). Living in peace and on purpose this year wasn’t about me mustering up peace, burying my head in the sand, denying the hard things. Peace came when I purposefully admitted that life was hard and fragile. My heart is not troubled when I remember Jesus is the one who gives peace, who IS peace to this broken world. He binds up our wounds, the prince of peace gives us purpose, this year and always. 

Other posts from this year's theme

this one    and here

lessons from Loeb

this post may be TMI...but, "the more you know"

A week ago I had an open myomectomy to remove a large- think grapefruit to large apple sized (and several smaller) fibroid. basically a c-section without the baby.

As I look back, I am so grateful for trusting my gut, this week of healing, and my amazing medical team.

One thing that I've been realizing the last couple of days, as swelling and initial surgery pains have started to fade, is the extent of symptoms I was living with. It's true, "you don't know what you've got til it's gone".

Now that I'm no longer experincing the constant gut pressure, frequent bathroom trips, and bloating/distended uterus (which is a fancy way of saying my uterus expanded to make room for the grapefruit-I-named-Loeb), I can't believe I lived that way for so long.

But then I look farther, and can't help but see the parallels to other areas of health-mental, emotional, spiritual, and think , where's the fibroid? what is sitting there, growing and causing symptoms, that needs to be cut out? what habits, thought patterns, and ways of relating are bloating my health in these areas? where do I need surgery?

I'm thankful for books like "Everybody Always", "Out of Sorts", and "What happens When Women Say Yes to God" that have been a part of a different kind of surgery the last few days.

Listen to your gut, don't ignore the symptoms just because they're familiar. You can thrive, flourish, and are worthy of taking time for self-care and healing. So, thanks, Loeb, for helping me heal in more ways than one.

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.

new

“…cultivate self-compassion…I could never do that” she said with a wry and honest smile. Her response a glimpse of her heart.  She sighed in reflection, wondering how to even begin—without seeing this as another expectation.  Compassion, having grace, letting yourself be where you are to get where you want to be, the pause is purposeful. But how do you learn to be gentle withyourself, to preach grace where criticism abounds, to give yourself time to grow when it’s yesterday’s mistakes you can’t get over?

In a frustrated sigh she slammed her journal shut, “just another attribute” she surmised.

 As she looked out the window, leaves dancing with the morning breeze, her thoughts began to soften, maybe there really is another way. Maybe I am my harshest critic. Maybe, just maybe, there’s hope.

Maybe I start by being okay with where I am. Owning my self-depricating “haha” sentence enders. 

Maybe I start there. 

Maybe, I can start today.

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.