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.