the curious place of listening (days 21 – 25)

October 21, 2012

Two years ago when my sister started this whole let’s-write-everyday-in-October thing, several of us emailed back and forth ideas for topics.

We started out serious, but when we all heard how ridiculous our ideas were at the beginning, it became a common joke that maybe we should just write about silence and frame our laziness and inability to think of something to write about with the pretense of being profound. We could call it 31 Days of Quiet and take the month off.

Today, I laugh because this week is going to be just exactly that, minus the laziness and pretense. There is nothing lazy about taking intentional time off to listen, to become aware of the inner workings of the soul, and to honestly confront whatever comes to the surface.

In my flesh, I would rather do anything else.

But these twenty days of writing have been leading up to an invitation to quiet. And for the next several days, I’m entering in to the curious place of listening. Since I won’t be posting for several days, here are some posts I’ve written in the past that may encourage you as you enter in to your own week, whatever hush may look like for you.

4 Ways to Take a Walk Like a Believer

A Question for the Desperate

For When You Feel Behind

The Secret to Keeping the Wonder

5 Ways to Breathe in a Breathless World

Love in the Morning

This post serves as days 21 – 25 in a series, 31 Days to Hush. You can click here to see a list of all the posts. If you would like to receive these quiet thoughts in your email inbox, subscribe now.

 

12 Comments · Filed Under: 31 days to Hush, breathe

for when you need more than a soul breath

October 18, 2012

“Wait quietly in My presence while My thoughts form silently in the depths of your being. Do not try to rush this process, because hurry keeps your heart earthbound.“

Sarah Young, Jesus Calling

Tomorrow morning, I leave before the sun comes up for a week away from home. This trip has been planned for a while now. It seems right that it falls in the middle of 31 hushed days.

As a whole, these days have not felt hushed. At least not in the way I expected.

Even though I’ve been more intentional about taking a little space for my soul to breathe, a funny thing happens when I stop on purpose.

I realize I need more than a soul breath.

I need an oxygen mask.

And also a tank filled with more that I can wheel around behind me.

Maybe a rain forest or two planted in my yard for extra.

And let’s just throw in a couple of fans to blow the air around nice and good.

I have every intention of continuing to post while I’m away, but I will tell you now if the posts simply stop some time next week, know they’ll start back up soon enough. I make no promises that this 31 days won’t possibly turn into 26.

The world will spin on and the internet will be a little more hushed for a week. No big.

But for now, from the bottom of my earthbound heart, I will tell you I’ll be back tomorrow. Unless I’m not.

Thanks for grace.

This is day 18.

This is a post in a series, 31 Days to Hush. You can click here to see a list of all the posts, updated daily. If you would like to receive these quiet thoughts in your email inbox, subscribe now.

17 Comments · Filed Under: 31 days to Hush, breathe

when your kids want to live in a different kind of house

October 17, 2012

The kids and I drove to a friend’s house to help them pick out a paint color for their wall (my friends, they know I love me some paint colors and they also know I’ll have an opinion). They have one little boy who is two and when we left, one of my eight-year-olds said to me, “I wish we lived in a house like that.”

I asked what she meant. “What’s their house like?”

“Cute and quiet and organized. I never get quiet at my house.”

She wants to live in a quiet house.

As much as I tried to convince her their house felt quiet because they have carpet, I kind of know better. She is growing up a girl who needs space. With a twin sister, a little brother, and two younger cousins who live next door, personal space is hard to come by.

We are students of our children – they don’t all need the same thing. We make space for her to have room time, allow her to close her door and tell the others not to bother her, spend time cuddling without too much talk.

I want to teach her to embrace and respect her unique personality while also realizing sometimes we have to sacrifice our own comfort for the sake of community.

This is day 17.

This is a post in a series, 31 Days to Hush. You can click here to see a list of all the posts, updated daily. If you would like to receive these quiet thoughts in your email inbox, subscribe now.

22 Comments · Filed Under: 31 days to Hush, faith

one surprising benefit of having a hushed soul

October 16, 2012

For about a year now, I’ve been noticing a tightness around my jaw when I wake up in the mornings. It also happens when I sit at the computer. I clamp my teeth together and don’t realize I’m doing it until I start to get a headache.

Once my jaw started popping, I went ahead and asked my dentist about it and he told me I probably need a bite guard. He then referred me to an oral surgeon just to be sure.

Last week, I finally went to see the surgeon and after lots of talking and looking and asking questions, he said, “Well, you’re a clencher.”

And so it cost me $160 to learn what I already knew. The surgeon told me our teeth should never touch (what!? That may have just changed my life) and he also said he can spot a clencher “from a mile away” (something I would actually like to see). He told me about a local newswoman who “clenches so much her face is square.”

It struck me as so funny, I laughed out loud. Out very loud. So loud, in fact, that I think it encouraged him to keep going so he continued to tell me about this poor square-faced clenching woman and how he wishes he could get a hold of her and make her get a bite guard.

I pictured him sitting in his fancy doctor-y leather recliner watching TV with his wife, pointing out the clenchers on all his favorite shows.

We all have our specialties, I guess.

Just before I fell asleep last night, I noticed a light comfort about my face. I realized it was because my teeth weren’t touching. I also noticed there was nothing particularly heavy on my mind. Just thoughts of rest and home.

After a few full weeks of travel and deadlines, my soul feels hushed today. I still plan to get that bite guard, but I think the connection between the state of my jaw and the state of my soul is one to pay attention to.

Here’s to a quiet heart and a smooth, round face.

This is day 16 of 31 Days to Hush. We’re over half-way through this series now. You can click here to see a list of all the posts in the series. If you would like to receive these quiet thoughts in your email inbox, subscribe now.

40 Comments · Filed Under: 31 days to Hush, breathe

31 days to hush

September 30, 2012

31 days to hush

Ever feel the need just to put your hands over your ears, shut your eyes tight and hush?

To consider writing here every day in October feels crazy, except for one thing: I am a writer.

The lessons, desires, and growing at work within me are usually worked out through writing. Maybe it’s that way for you, too.

Sometimes I have things I am compelled to say, art I am delighted to share, words I have spent lots of time handling, shaping, and offering to you.

I did that with my first book and then with my second. I also partially did that with 31 Days of Grace and 31 Days to Change the World here on the blog.

These days, I have truths I want to better learn. I’m not sure how much I have to offer, but I’m willing to carry the questions and invite you into the process.

I need to practice listening and I want to write through the rhythm of learning.

Welcome to the first day of 31 Days to Hush: thoughts on becoming a curious listener.

I hope you’ll consider visiting this month for a simple thought or reflection to start your day. And maybe, if you’re a writer too, you would like to join in the community of 31 Dayers.

This is day one.

Day 2 :: What John Mayer Can Teach Us About Silence

Day 3 :: Quiet is My New Loud

Day 4 :: On Quietness, Trust, and Love

Day 5 :: Find a Quiet Space

Day 6 :: Why You Can Move Into the World WithYour Whole Heart

Day 7 :: 3 People Learning How to Listen and to See {Hush Links}

Day 8 :: 5 Surprising Essentials for a Great Party

Day 9 :: The Hilarity of Humanity

Day 10 :: Behind The Scenes: The Truth About Why I’m Writing on Quietness

Day 11 :: For When Your Wit is Slow and Your Edges Are Round

Day 12 :: Chasing Silhouettes – When Being Quiet Can Kill

Day 13 :: What May Come to the Surface When You Hush

Day 14: 31 Days :: Hush Links

Day 15 :: How to Listen to a Friend

Day 16 :: One Surprising Benefit of Having a Hushed Soul

All the posts in the series will be added to this page each day of October. If you would like to receive these quiet thoughts in your email inbox, subscribe now. I look forward to the journey together.

52 Comments · Filed Under: 31 days to Hush, breathe

seven reasons why I can’t keep my eyes dry

September 12, 2012

A big week. Thanks for being awesome and supportive and putting up with me and my big self talking about the new book. I’m feeling small and thankful and emotional. Here are some reasons why, besides the obvious stuff.

1. Friday Night Lights is over. It’s been over for nearly two years for normal people. But I’ve been waiting to watch it on Netflix because I didn’t want it to end. This week I finally said goodbye to Tami and Coach Taylor and Tim Riggins and Buddy Garrity. It’s sad is what it is.

2. Annie Downs wrote a book. I spent some time with Annie this past weekend. Her book and my book released on the same day for the same audience and can I just be very honest with you? We are technically competitors. But it doesn’t feel that way. At all. The truth is, I’d rather do this with her than without her.

You’ve heard me talk about her book. It’s called Perfectly Unique and y’all? Annie is. She is all kinds of crazy brave and courageous without being obnoxious about it. She has a sweet mix of funny and normal and faith. She is a true friend and a great writer. So I’ve been thankful for her, for the unique relationship we have as writers of books for teen girls. It’s a gift to have a partner in this. Buy her book. And then? Read her letter to her teenage self. It is exquisite.

3. I’ve been thinking through things about church, about the shape of our souls, the beauty of community, the sacredness of truth. Lately, I feel like I’m changing a little everyday. It hurts and also is lovely. The Man and I pray together every morning and there’s something about love, coffee, prayer, and front porch sitting that gets me all teary and thankful.

4. My sixteen year old self needed a lot of tenderness and I didn’t realize it. I wrote a letter to her and I tried to be as honest as I could, to put myself back in that time and feel all of those emotions. It worked. I am a hot mess. And also?

5. Reading other people’s letters is slaying me. I still can’t tell why yet. Even the funny ones are bringing out weird emotion in me that I didn’t expect, can’t explain, and won’t try to.

6. On the Shores by Melissa Helser and Johnathan David Helser. First of all, they were so gracious to let us use their song for the Graceful video (by the way, the video was directed by Jason Windsor and was awesome). This song is powerful and living and every time she sings hallelujah, I have to raise up my hands.

7. The twins have made up a language. It’s ridiculous and awesome and just sounds like a lot of z’s. But they are 8 and they have their own language that they understand. I watch them and I am overcome with emotion, thankful they have a person, a sister. A gift.

What is something bringing out weird emotion in you lately?

graceful for young womenStill writing those letters. If you would like to join in, we would love to read it. Simply write it on your own blog and come here this Friday, September 14 to link up. Here are all the details. Some of my favorite writers who are writing letters today:

Annie Downs – I linked to it up there but I’m putting it down here because I don’t want you to miss it.

Stephen Martin - I love Stephen’s writing and his letter does not disappoint (you should check out his book, too) And also I feel kind of awesome that four men agreed to write letters. Stephen is one of them.

Mary DeMuth – Mary is an early mentor of mine. I’m thankful for her and her willingness to join in.

Kristen Strong – She read Sweet Valley High books as a teenager. Automatically love her. Her writing is lovely and kind.

Gary Morland – My dad wrote a letter. He is also a man. You can learn a lot about your family by having them write letters to themselves.

30 Comments · Filed Under: friendship, Graceful, ministry, sisters

don’t hate me because I’m dutiful

August 21, 2012

I talk a lot about my own personal struggle with the perfect invisible version of myself. Through books and blog posts, I’ve documented my journey of understanding that my identity and security are not based on my performance but are in Christ.

Because for so long I misunderstood the role of discipline and work in the life of the believer, I write as one wounded by impossible expectation. And so my story is laced with warning to the list-makers, rule-keepers and high-achievers, reminders that God is not looking for products, he longs for people.

One of my great fears in writing these things out is that I’ve somehow communicated that discipline, work, excellence, and determination are negative things.

They aren’t negative unless they become your god.

Discipline became god without my realizing it. It took years to tease out the truth, like Peeta after the Capital brainwashed him, I had to constantly weigh my own perception of God against scripture and ask, real or not real? 

This wasn’t a one-time, bright-light conversion moment. It was gradual, is gradual. I still ask those questions a lot.

Over the past several years, I have been walking up to discipline with cautious steps and loose grips, with the timidity of an addict approaching the street where she took her first drink. The old patterns whisper, habits circle around and nudge my hands to pick them up and wield them as weapons as I once did – to protect myself from other people, God, myself.

But grace speaks louder, is a solid place to lean.

I am becoming reacquainted with the spiritual disciplines and the meeting is sweet. Practices that I once saw as scorecards are now becoming to me sacred. There is sometimes a sense of confusion and questioning. Other times, there is peace and assurance. Christ brings answers but also mystery. We don’t get to know everything.

Once, that was terrifying. Now, it mostly brings comfort.

There is a certain beauty in repetition, in the breathing prayer, in the memorization of scripture. Maybe I’m just getting old, or maybe I’m experiencing more freedom. Probably both.

Two weeks from today, the book I wrote for high school girls will officially release. It’s leaking out in bookstores and there may even be some in stock already on Amazon and Barnes and Noble websites (What?! I know.) Graceful was hard to write, mainly because of who it’s for. I sense the weight of responsibility to walk beside the next generation. I also sense all the ways I fall short in being able to do that well.

But there’s a whole book of my attempts and it’s coming to a bookstore near you. I hope it will be a good resource for you as you walk beside young women in your life. And if you haven’t yet read my first book, Grace for the Good Girl, it’s still half-off at LifeWay.

28 Comments · Filed Under: freedom, grace, Grace for the Good Girl, Graceful

what happens when you try to go home again

August 20, 2012

We take one last trip of summer, pile twelve deep into a van. We drive through the streets of my childhood, streets I know by heart but can’t navigate on my own. I never drove them, still haven’t. We moved from Columbus, Indiana when I was only eleven and this is the first time my husband and children have seen where I grew up.

picture in a pictureThirty years ago, Dad built that fence on the right. I remember the day he drove the wood into the ground, made a three-sided line around our grass, the house closing up the square. That house holds every memory I have for the first decade of my life. Strangers live there now. Maybe in twenty-five years, the children in that small white house will drive by with their own van filled with people, hearts full, hands empty.

Maybe they will remember the alley out back where they ran barefoot, gravel hardening soft feet with every step, arms filled with Barbies, ears keen for the carnival sound of the ice cream truck, eyes filled with wonder.

Nothing was ever going to change.

Grandma would live forever.

Sisters would always share rooms.

Saturdays would always mean donuts.

Dad would always hold beers.

Home would always be Gladstone Avenue.

It hurts to go back and remember, mostly because we can’t re-create it. My heart begs my eyes to see again, but I can’t un-see what is now there. We have lived so many lives in this one lifetime since then.

Standing in that alley on Halloween night so many years ago, I couldn’t have imagined change would ever be good. But I was four, so what did I know? Life was hard then, not that I realized it at the time. I haven’t fully processed what it meant to me to see my childhood home through adult eyes, my own children  nearly as old as I was when we left, my husband holding my hand.

columbus indiana

We look at the same buildings and streets and fields. But what was see is completely different. It’s difficult to accept that these people who are now my people can never really understand my past.

I look over on the seat next to me, my sister’s eyes as wide as mine, Mom telling a story behind us, Dad pulling out photos from the 80s. And I can’t believe it, but for a moment time is suspended. These are my people, too. Maybe Mom once felt like I do right now, and maybe her mom before us. We grow and move and change and make new people who do the same. At least we hope so.

We need the whole mix of them, this community of people put together by God. And it hurts to know them sometimes, to let them know me. But this is family, community, and in many ways, a picture of the church. Some of them remember as well as I do, others remember better and the youngest ones just want to get back to the hotel so they can play.

Some things are not for everyone to know, some gifts and lessons are only for those who lived through it. I’m learning to accept that and maybe even be thankful for it.

The van pulls out of the neighborhood, someone mentions Starbucks. The kids are having a bubblegum blowing contest in the back.

I smile, full.

42 Comments · Filed Under: family, thankfulness

how one brush equals six pots filled with miracles

August 8, 2012

Brushes are good for throwing. They fit right in your hand, perfect to squeeze in the angry moments. And you can close your bathroom door and just throw that brush against the tile as hard as you want to.

The brush might dent or break, but you won’t care so much about that in the moment. It’s just nice to throw something, to make a loud noise, to lose control for a bit of time. Assuming you ever had control in the first place.

Phones are good for throwing, too. Not iPhones – too expensive. But for those of us who still have landlines, those cordless phones are the best. I kicked that habit about six years ago when, in a fit of stubborn frustration, I threw the phone across the room. When I finally went to rescue it, two of the numbers were stuck pushed in. It was unfortunate if I ever needed a 5. Or a pound sign.

I don’t throw phones anymore.

In John 2, I read about the couple who invited Jesus to their wedding. His friends and his mama, too. I know the whole point of the story is the wine in the water pots, but I just can’t help imagining what sort of friend Jesus was to the bride and groom. Did he cry when they made their promises? Did he and the groom shake hands, exchange looks, embrace?

What did he think when he watched the bride?

Did he think of his church? Of you?

Of me? Was I holding a brush?

Yesterday was a brush-throwing kind of day. I don’t throw them at people so don’t go worrying for anyone’s safety. But sometimes slamming a brush into the sink is better than slamming my head into the wall. I’ve decided to call it a celebration for Lysa TerKeurst’s book release week. She wrote a book called Unglued and let’s just say I was.

Sometimes I forget freedom, the abundance of my gifts, the everyday graces, the beauty of acceptance. Sometimes I throw brushes, pout, worry over things seven miles outside my circle of perceived control.

I forget the six pots filled with dusty water, the ones that held nearly thirty gallons each. I forget the twinkle in Mary’s eyes when she told the servants, Do whatever he tells you. And the water filled up to the brim worked invisible miracles inside those stone pots. And the master of the banquet was impressed as  the rich wine graced his lips. He drank down the miracle, satisfied.

Imagine if he knew where it had come from.

It was Jesus’ first miracle. Only his mother and a handful of servants knew about it. It wasn’t life or death. It wasn’t world peace or starvation or anything dangerous at all. Running out of wine at a wedding was more of a brush-throwing kind of moment. But Jesus still saw the need and worked a secret miracle to meet it.

I am desperate for twinkling eyes, for thirty gallon water pots, for believing in things I can’t see, for cups filled with secret miracles.

28 Comments · Filed Under: faith, imperfection

when full rooms make your knees shake

August 6, 2012

The room is packed to the corners with women, every round table nearly full with familiar faces. She introduces me quickly and I stand at the microphone, perusing the room.

Those girls were at our wedding. That one back there volunteers in our youth group. This one works at my kid’s school. There’s our pastor’s wife, my mother-in-law, the women who drove from Raleigh. There’s some friends who go to a different church, some girls I went to college with, a few women who work at LifeWay, college students home for summer. Surely they can’t be ready to graduate? Aren’t they still 16?

I begin to talk the way I do, hands moving too much, eyebrows raised to the ceiling, open. I am nothing if not open. And that is why I will later come home and close up in a ball, tightly sealed, quiet.

My hands shake remembering. I knew it would be a bit more difficult to speak in a room full of women I know. But I wasn’t prepared for the emotion of it. I didn’t cry, although a few times I felt like I might. It was a little like heaven, all those women gathered in one place, women I knew or used to know. Women I wished I knew better.

It also felt like something else, something of fear and self-awareness, of hiding under a big round table. Something of running away.

Three weeks ago I stood in front of a room filled with writers and speakers and strangers. I had fun there, felt sure of my calling there, spoke words and didn’t replay them.

But last week when I shared stories with a room made up of friends at my very own church in my very own neighborhood, well. I haven’t yet recovered. Being in the right place doesn’t always feel that great. Sometimes it feels terrifying, unsure, small. But small is a gift I haven’t stopped giving thanks for. I have tasted the miracles that come from weakness, from inadequacy, from a hard leaning into a source outside of myself.

This morning I read in the book of John, right there in the beginning, how the Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. I know this Word is Jesus, that the Father was pleased to have all his fullness dwell in Him and through Him. And then John 1:16 sings truth in black and white, lifts off the page and colors my whole kitchen with light.

“For of His fullness we have all received, and grace upon grace.”

We aren’t the only ones who lean. This word grace means favor. A kindness. God, freely extending Himself to us, giving Himself away, leaning toward us. He leans toward us. 

I would still prefer to speak to a room filled with strangers. Isn’t it obvious why? It is easier to manage their opinions, to control what they see, to stay distant. To speak among friends is to risk rejection, fingers pointing, exposure. But this risk is worth it if we want to grow in community and be challenged to live what we say we believe. Is Christ really sufficient? Have you really received His fullness? Does grace really multiply?

My earthly eyes see full rooms that push me to my introverted knees. The Spirit begs me to see a different kind of full — fullness of heart, fullness of spirits made one with God, fullness of Emmanuel. We are not alone. Grace upon grace.

I close my Bible, consider the gifts, stare out the window three minutes too long. The words fullness and lean are still on my mind. I don’t have neat conclusions. I will carry these words with me into the day.

41 Comments · Filed Under: grace, imperfection, vocation
«Older Posts
Newer Posts»
Blog Widget by LinkWithin