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state of a life

January 30, 2012

We watched the State of the Union address last week, and when I say watched I mean it was on for 10 minutes and then I turned it to American Pickers. But it’s the end of January, a good time to think about the state of where things are right now. My sister did a State of the Nest post last week and I thought how much I enjoy when bloggers I read pull back the curtain a bit and let us in to see things we don’t normally see. Consider the curtain pulled.

I am on a fast road to becoming more of an introvert than I already was. I don’t know if it’s the fact that I filled up a whole book with my own talk and now anyone, from strangers to neighbors can walk into any Barnes and Noble in the country and read it or if it is just part of getting older. But I am slowly beginning to hold my cards closer to my chest as the years are rolling on by.

I’m not saying that’s a bad or good thing, I’m just saying it’s true. I’m thankful for the friends who know me well. I’m craving simple moments with my husband. Silence and solitude are top on my list of things that keep me sane. My neighbor told me about a book that I can’t wait to read – Quiet: The power of introverts in a world that can’t stop talking. The title alone gave me freedom. It just released last week and is in the top 5 on Amazon so maybe some of you have read it or at least heard of it?

Some other books I’m reading? I’m on the last chapter of One Thousand Gifts. I know it’s been out for a year but I’ve read it with slow, thoughtful intention and now I don’t want it to end. I finished Parker Palmer’s Let Your Life Speak, a small book about learning to listen to your own design as you consider vocation. I’m also reading Sacred Rhythms by Ruth Haley Barton. All of these books together are changing how I think in a good way. They are all hardcovers and I have taken the book jacket off all of them because I have a hate relationship with book jackets.

Here is my family last month. I have precious few photos of all of us together because I’m usually the one behind the camera. Our family albums are filled with my husband looking like a single dad – poor man raising all those children alone. I’m sure his wife was a lovely creature, God rest her soul. Lucky for me, my sister-in-law always insists I get in the pictures when she’s around so I have just enough photos to prove that I am, indeed, not dead or missing.

The twins are in second grade now, all loose teeth and long legs. Our son will start kindergarten in the fall and then a week after that they will all be driving and getting married because that is just the way things go. I’m not sure how I feel about that.

This spring I will be slash have been speaking at some events and retreats, perhaps adding to the introversion that is going on. The idea of standing on stages and talking makes me want to spend equal time hiding under tables, silent. But I am beginning to embrace the beauty and relevance of speaking out loud the messages that have come in the quiet. There is a different kind of aliveness that happens in those settings. It definitely keeps me dependent and small.

We are currently (as in, today) picking out covers for my second book, the one for teen girls. It is between two beautiful covers and I can’t choose so when I’m done with this post I’m going to print them out, put them both on my mantel, blindfold myself and pin the tail on the cover. I can’t wait to share the winner with you. It’s a great problem to have, two beautiful covers. It could easily be two awful covers and it isn’t. I really love Revell.

Speaking of mantel, remember my mantel before we moved in? Well there it is, in all it’s unpainted, dark paneling glory. I changed some things around this weekend. I took an hour and painted the wall of the mantel white and hung my black and white pictures.

Yes, that is the same house. If you are curious and haven’t been around here much, you can read more about how we knocked down the living room wall wall and painted the dark paneling. This mantel has been through a lot of change over the four years since we moved in. I predict more change in the future. But for now, we’ll let her rest.

I’m considering starting a little newsletter of sorts for anyone interested – just a free not-very-often update on the state of things. It will be a place to tell you of upcoming events, to share some things I may not share on the blog, to maybe offer downloadable photos, to perhaps ask for prayer. See I am very decisive on what this would be. With all the chattering email and other fun online-y things, I can’t imagine that would be something anyone would sign up for which is why I haven’t done it. But I am discovering sometimes I have things I want to tell you about but the blog doesn’t always seem like the best way to do it. Perhaps you have a better idea? I’m all ears. And that is not a joke about how much my ears stick out. Just so you know.

Filed Under a girl, a house-lover, faith 58 Comments

for your weekend

January 28, 2012

May you know beyond doubt or shadow that you are loved, and may your sky be blue enough this weekend for you to look twice. May you see the gifts hiding under piles of worry, see the dream behind the fog of fear, and find the time to take the long way home. And may none of your children wipe their boogers on your wall. Amen.

Tagged Filed Under a prayer of blessing 17 Comments

10 opportunities to be a graceful superhero

January 26, 2012

While driving in traffic.

When you’re right, but they don’t know it.

On your birthday.

In your area of expertise.

When you’re running late.

When they’re doing it wrong.

While pregnant.

When you’re overlooked.

When the telemarketer calls.

At the DMV.

I know that grace is far more than biting my tongue when I want to lash out, more than not saying mean things, more than tolerating someone who is intolerable, more than just being nice, more than a tight-lipped patience. Grace is extending more than what is deserved and that never starts with me. Because that? Is impossible.

If I really believe this grace changes everything, then the secret to a life transformed is simple – receive the grace given to you in abundance, then pour it out on everything. And it isn’t fake, this outpouring of grace in the midst of the impossible. Being a hypocrite is not acting contrary to how you feel. Being a hypocrite is acting contrary to who you are. In Christ, you are graceful. Even when you don’t feel like it.

“But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace to me was not without effect. No, I worked harder than all of them — yet not I, but the grace of God that was with me.”

1 Corinthians 15:10


Tagged Filed Under faith 50 Comments

one thing not on your to-do list (but should be)

January 24, 2012

The good girl speaks loudly today. She is a cloak of shame and a ball of fire and a pointy finger and an evil laugh. She is rude and polite and two-faced and genuine and knows just how to push my buttons. I kind of hate her. And also want to be her. I will never out run that book I wrote.

When you write a book about a good girl learning to let go of the try hard life, you’d better believe that yours are the hands with the whitest knuckles. This life is not stair-climbing, getting closer to the top with every glad step. It’s more like an onion, peeling back the layers of lies and regrets and misconceptions.

Last week, my husband and I stood by the sea, heads weary from the travel, hands open with time to spare, and we didn’t have much to say. It was lovely. Still, I felt pressure to make the most out of our time. Production followed me to the shore, tapping on my shoulder, waiting to be checked off my to-do list. It took a full day to shake him. And even then, it was a fight. I have a disease, I think to myself. I am addicted to producing things.

We are tethered to our own usefulness, big-headed with our own accomplishments, crushed by our shortcomings. We miss the soul breath. We miss the smallness, the doorway through which we must walk to find freedom from the ever moving treadmill of time. Even if we steal time from our productivity to find the sitter, pack the bags, pay the money, sit through the layovers and fly to the shore to relax, sometimes once we get there we forget how. And I realized as I tapped my foot on sand that I have shed my truest identity. Instead of being the beloved, I feel more like the doloved.

How do you calm a life of activity? How do you shake the guilt of rest? How do you smooth the frayed edges and loose ends that wave frantic in your face? To start? Don’t just look at that comfortable chair. Sit in it. Poke a hole in the bucket of time and let the minutes spill onto your lap. And as you do, consider this: you are loved. So be the loved. Fake it if you have to, the being. Because you are loved, so even when you fake it you’re not faking it because it’s true. Read page 44 slow. And then read it again, slower.

We know by heart, take out the trash, sort the laundry, submit the article, call the teacher. We may even know be kind, be patient, be loving. But what about the gift? Be loved. It doesn’t come natural or easy, but it does come. He did come. Take your time to consider God’s gracious love toward you. Let him show up refreshingly new. Item number 20 on the list today?

It just might change everything.

Tagged Filed Under breathe 87 Comments

for your weekend

January 20, 2012

May this weekend bring Truth that speaks louder than critics, peace that weighs more than fear, and rings for your fingers that make you feel like a lady. Raise your face to sky when the sun comes out and fold up your legs in warm blankets when it doesn’t. Be thankful for the moment you hold in your hands, and hopeful for the ones that will come again tomorrow. Enjoy your weekend, friends.

Filed Under a prayer of blessing 11 Comments

the kind of faith that can change your life

January 19, 2012

“If we are to be aware of life while we are living it, we must have the courage to relinquish our hard-earned control of ourselves.”

-Madeleine L’Engle, Walking on Water

I stare out the morning window, the outline of my tired head stares back at me, wispy hair out of place, wild. The sun isn’t up yet, only the faintest, faded line of pink lingers over the trees out back. This slow rising happens every morning, I think to myself. As I wrap my hands around my warm cup, I can’t help but rush ahead into the day. Even though the house is quiet, I’m running on the inside as if things are in full swing. My feet haven’t moved but my soul is rumbling.

Mercifully, the Lord whispers His presence with me and I’m pulled back to this minute. I consider how God called the light day and the dark night, how He spoke the days into being just one at a time. He still does it that way, evening and morning and evening again. And the days roll into one another in a watercolor line of elation and planning and laughter and frustration. Sometimes it feels like my life is a gray arrow right through the center, pushing ahead to get on with the next thing, desperately wishing I could see far off ahead.

It isn’t usually the big things that cause the most trouble and doubt. With the big things, it is so obvious I’m out of control – the diagnosis, the job insecurity, the safety and well-being of my family. Instead it’s those everyday things that are covered with my fingerprints. I try to get things I already have, things like acceptance, worth, security, love. Maybe everything we do is to get one of those needs met. Finish the list – I am important. Apologize for my messy house when the neighbor comes over – I need your acceptance. Don’t let them see my weakness – I need your approval. 

We are terrified of the mystery. We want our manager hats to remain firmly on our heads, skirts smoothed, shoes shined, plans lined up in neat rows. At the least, the suggestion that we are not in control is laughable. At the worst, it is offensive. I have a degree, you know.

And so I stand there next to the window, pink sky lighting up with each moment, and consider the invisible place in me where my Spirit and God’s mingle together. I used to think that a mature faith would bring with it clear pictures, thought that as I walked with God I would see life big, wide, and spacious. But that is not what is happening, and if you expect that, it can feel like perhaps your faith is shrinking. Because instead of being lifted up on a cloud to see the big picture, instead of tilting back my head and laughing at those silly things I used to worry about, I am shrinking down into a small place, a place where I can barely see two feet in front of me, much less into next week.

Everything in me wants to fight the unveiling of the anxieties that threaten to overwhelm, push them back from showing up in my day. Christians aren’t supposed to be anxious, right?  I want to ignore the smoky unknown; it is counter-intuitive to let the anxieties rise up to the surface.

But we must let them rise up, so that we can release them into His hands. Speak the fear out loud, so that He can give words of truth. Don’t run away from those places where it seems your faith is small. Run into them, look around, be honest about how it feels as you stand there. And know we have a God who can handle it.

I put my cup on the table, breathe in deep the air of a new day, pray without words to a God who knows. I become aware of His acceptance of me, and not because I finished everything on my list. Truth can be a slow rising, making no difference at first. But as each moment weaves itself into the next, as we believe Him in the great right now, His truth becomes a strand woven into the fabric of our minutes. This moment living is sweet. This moment living reminds me of who is in control and who is not. This smallness is to be celebrated, not despised. I dare not trust myself with the next step. A mature faith says I am desperately in need of a source outside of myself. I always have been, but now I know it.

Tagged Filed Under breathe, faith 47 Comments

for when you can’t define yourself

January 16, 2012

We stand at the top of the John Hancock building in Chicago, stare down at the toy cars moving along Lake Shore Drive. It’s a Lego city with matchbox cars and pretend water from the bathtub. There’s a Barbie swimming pool on the top of a Lego building (do you see it there in the corner?) and I stand there knowing it’s real but feeling oddly like a giant person. I’m Godzilla and the city is pretend and any moment I will take a step and squash it all. Watch me lift my foot! But when I do, I lose my balance and step far away from the window because I’m not Godzilla and the building I stand in is real and I took the 45 second elevator ride to the top that proves it.

The city takes my breath away. I know it’s all concrete and right angles and gray and brown and processed. But maybe that’s the amazing part in a way. People made this, made these buildings to touch the sky. And here I stand, in midair, looking down at all those people, all those cars holding all those people with all their stories. They all have stories, don’t they?

My girl is nervous in the city – the sirens, the horns, the bustling across busy streets, all those revolving doors. Nothing stays still long enough for her to figure it out. Each time we enter an elevator she grabs us all for fear we’ll be crushed by the doors. I watch her as we enter the hotel, relief lowers her shoulders. She needs space for her soul to breathe and she can’t find it in the city. She’s glad we’re only visiting.

I marvel at my fascination with the whole thing. I’m an introvert wearing extrovert’s skin. I smile here, feel the pulse, settle in to the pace. I come alive with the movement, the lights, the color. Things are happening here. Opportunities feel touchable here. But possibility can talk the ears off a billy goat, so after a few days, I want to crawl under the bed and hide. I want to cradle my head in my hands and breathe the quiet in deep all the way to my fingertips.

We fly away and now I stand alone, boots on sugar, January wind whips straight through the quiet. I’m not Godzilla now; I’m tiny, mini, small. I stand at the edge of the world and wonder how anyone who comes here could ever bring themselves to leave.

Because just look at that. I am microscopic, invisible. I want to fill my soul up with beauty enough to last a week, find that water blue on a paint chip and color the world Sea. The kids are back in Charlotte with Mom and my husband stands where he’s been for the last ten years – right by my side. We say nothing for a long time because what is there to say? How could I have ever felt alive in the city when there’s this? I am sand-small tiny, in awe of this beauty. I feel myself relax with the pace of this place.

Yes, that’s what it is – the pace. Pace implies rhythm, and rhythm implies movement and isn’t that what we need? I need both city-life and sea-living and all the familiar things of home that come in between. I am not all introvert quiet or all extrovert energy. I am small and big, loud and quiet, thankful. I am not just one thing, don’t fit in the corner of a box. Live in your seasons, take the breaths you need, keeps eyes wide open when you can and close them tightly when you need to. This life is a gift and the giver is God and we live full in each season as it comes.

Filed Under breathe 42 Comments
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