2010 November | chatting at the sky

paying attention on a tuesday

November 16, 2010

Everyone has something to teach. We would do well to simply pay attention. I have spent the weekend with my friend Annie from Annie Blogs. And that girl? Has a lot to teach. She is brave, but not without fear. She is fun, but can dive to the depths of conversation on a dime. She has experienced things some people only dream of, and she has dreams she still wants to experience. She’s been with my family, my friends, my small group girls, and my fellow youth workers. In every situation, she was gracious, energetic, honest, loving, other-centered, and free.

The hurry slipped right out from within me while Annie was around. We talked of writing and fear, of loving high school girls and feeling like one, too. I didn’t wash a dish or do any laundry. But there was lots of soul-work going on, lots of visioneering and dream-stuff and rest.

Annie teaching some of our sophomore girls.

Spending time with people I enjoy, people who teach with more than words, is life-giving to me. I would love to be the same kind of friend, a person who teaches with more than words and offers soul-rest simply by being in the room. It is a gift we give to people, to co-create soul space with them and for them. Annie was that for me (and so many others) this weekend, and I’m so thankful for it.

Is there a person (or people) in your life who has a presence that offers peace? If so, or if you have another type of gift to consider today, I invite you to join us in celebrating. If you have questions, check out the information on my Tuesdays Unwrapped page. If you are reading in a reader, you may have to click over to see the links and I really hope you read at least a few. So happy here on my favorite day of the week. Join us?

Filed Under a friend, Tuesdays Unwrapped 18 Comments

we have a title now

November 15, 2010

Sometimes the things we most desperately want to figure out are the things that need to percolate slow. There is no hurrying a crock-pot meal. There is no rushing a sunset. Coming up with a title for the book I finished this summer has been like that for me. You would think it would come in an outline, matter-of-fact way. In a way that is logical and sensical and clear. If you count the book proposal, I’ve been working on this book for the past two years. And in all that time, I could never find the one phrase that said the thing it took me 60,000 words to say. It kept me up at night. It made me crabby. It also brought out my perfectionist issues because, you know, it has to be the perfect title. Which is kind of exactly one of the problems with my good girl life; the obsession with exactly right, the desire for just-so, the need for you to like me and everything I do.

And so I need grace, heaven-helpings of it. Grace to release myself from the invisible standard, grace to trust that even if there is no perfect title, it doesn’t mean the book will fail. And I need grace to trust as we come to a final decision, because a decision means this thing is really happening, women really will read my book, and failure is a sure possibility. I so need grace.

Did you hear it? Is it as painfully obvious to you as it now is to me? It didn’t come quick and it didn’t come easy, almost like I had to live it out and then name the living. And so we did. I hope it will mean something to you as it has meant to me.

Grace for the Good Girl: Letting Go of the Try-Hard Life.

Filed Under a writer, Good Girls 99 Comments

the invisible, glamorous life

November 12, 2010

We’d never seen a boat that big in the harbour. I’ve been coming here for 11 years – The Man for all his life. It was the Never Enough. The irony was not lost on anyone watching.

They said that the crew was dressed all in khakis and fancy shirts in the early day, and at dusk we saw them in their black ties. We could hear all the excitement from where we stood as the yacht slowly made her way around the smaller boats, and I nearly expected Jay Gatsby to walk right out onto the deck and nod to the crowd with a smirk and a white-coat wave.

She moved slow, heavy, regal. And I wished I was there, part of the buzz and glitz and mystery. But not really. Because as I lazy-looped my arm through The Man’s and we meandered our way back to our beach house, I realized that this life I live is someone else’s boat – they look and long and wish for this. And so do I, until I remember I have it. That glamour life doesn’t really exist, and the ones who chase it discover quick, It isn’t really there. Whoever named the boat knew that. This tangible life is never enough, not really.

It’s been four months since I first saw Never Enough floating slow in the harbor, and every time I see a movie star on the cover of a magazine or daydream about jumping on a plane to Paris, I think about her and about how she may have been the biggest yacht in our harbor, but she’s not the biggest yacht in the world, not by far. When you strive to be the biggest and best, the smartest and wisest and most interesting, your goal will always be frustrated with bigger and better, smarter and wiser, and much more interesting. And so there is an innocent comfort and safety in humility, in receiving what this day gives, and in knowing that none of it originates with me.

Filed Under a girl 46 Comments

for when you can’t stay put

November 10, 2010

Anxiety works hard to pull me into the future, tugging like a dog on a rope. Regret stands behind me, just over my shoulder, with dark whispers of should-haves. But the Lord, He spoke the days into being, and He did so just one at a time. And this is the day he has made. If you feel the tug into the future, if you hear the whispers of the past, be still. Stay in this day, only this one. Allow him to keep you here, in this minute, resting in the promise of safety and peace.

God called the light “day” and the darkness “night.” And evening passed and morning came, marking the first day. -Genesis 1:5

Filed Under breathe 36 Comments

learning to breathe on a tuesday

November 9, 2010

There is a project I’m working on due after Thanksgiving. It requires writing and thinking and moving through quicksand while handcuffed. At least, that’s how it feels. There has been sick going around, and traveling and planning and cancer and grieving and art projects. You know the story. It’s your story, too.

And so there is this man in the midst of the living with me, my sickness and health, poor and rich covenant partner. And when my soul forgets to breathe, he reminds me. And sometimes he takes drastic measures, and sometimes I resist them. But he keeps on reminding, because that’s what covenant partners do.

Sometimes all it takes is a word, a look, a moment to remember to breathe in grace and love and truth. But other times, it takes days or even weeks. Discouragement begins to get comfortable with her feet up on the couch, and truth seems a joke. Setting your mind is an interesting thing; it takes practice and patience and faith. And that is why this life-giving, covenant relationship with my husband is so necessary. He reminds me to breathe.

Do you have someone who reminds you to breathe? If you would like to share them with us here, or if you have another gift you want to celebrate on this Tuesday, I invite you to link up. If you have questions, check out the information on my Tuesdays Unwrapped page. If you are reading in a reader, you may have to click over to see the links and I really hope you read at least a few. So happy here on my favorite day of the week. Join us?

Filed Under breathe, Tuesdays Unwrapped 25 Comments

on grieving with those teenage girls

November 8, 2010

I sit with them in the homey living room, their eyes cast down toward the floor. I have no words because there are no words. And so it is quiet for a time.

A little over a week ago, a student in our community died in a skateboarding accident. I didn’t know him, but our students did. And tonight, as I gathered with my girls for our regular small group meeting, the few who knew him talked about him. They talked about how school is different now, how nobody sits in his seat in class, how counselors are available in the library, how they don’t like change.

They have questions they aren’t asking, and so do I. There are things that don’t make sense to them, or to me. And so we sit in the quiet for some more time. I read a verse from Psalm 34, and promise that the Lord is close to the brokenhearted, and I know it’s true. But that’s easy for me, with all my children, watching from a safe distance. But if I were his mama, it’s hard to say if I would let anyone get close to my broken heart.

And in the midst of all of that, in the midst of sitting there and listening to the few there who knew him talk a bit, do you know what I’m actually thinking? I’m actually worried about the fact that I don’t have answers, worried that maybe they think I should, worried about what I should say, and knowing there is nothing, really. At least nothing that will make it okay. And then, I feel ashamed for thinking of myself. Shame never takes a break, you know; not even for death.

I’ve heard other leaders who work with youth say similar things during times of grief: what should we do? say? how do we help these students? Grown ups don’t know how to deal with death any better than kids do. Maybe worse, actually, because we carry a burden of responsibility around grief, as if we should have something profound to say or some comfort to offer that will make a difference. To love them well, we have to release ourselves. If I’m looking at me, I can’t see them. And in times like this, they need to be seen, heard, and loved well.

Still, in this place I’ve made for soul breathing, things like this tend to knock the breath clear away. And the song by Regina Spektor comes to mind No one laughs at God in a hospital/No one laughs at God in a war. . . Because you can be apathetic about God for only so long. There comes a point where you have to decide what you believe, who you trust, where you’ll make your safe place. We have to do this for ourselves, sometimes by the minute, in order to have anything to offer those grieving teenage girls.

Filed Under youth ministry 33 Comments

glory telling

November 7, 2010

There may be laws that keep mouths silent in schools, there may be countries that put you in jail for saying His name, there may be leaders and dictators and presidents that are offended to think there is a higher power than themselves, but there is one thing that cannot be jailed or killed or persecuted because of the telling. There is one voice that cannot be silenced by hate or fear or anger or judgement. The heavens declare the glory of God, and their telling will never be silenced.

Join me in more of the telling as I write this morning at (in)courage.

Filed Under (in)courage 9 Comments