3 questions to ask yourself before you change the world

May 23, 2013

Change the world is a tired, over-used phrase. I know that. But you know, we could say the same thing about “I love you” so I’m just going to go with it. These three questions are for anyone who wonders if it might finally be time to do something – write, teach, move, speak, listen, join, or quit. They are questions that help me – but maybe your questions are different. I’d love to hear what they are.

3 questions

In an interview Jeff Goins did with Seth Godin, he (Seth) said all his books were a result of his being frustrated by something. (By the way, raise your hand if you have ever called them Jeff Godin and Seth Goins – I mean, really. Could their names BE any more similar?)

Seth: “For me, I don’t wake up in the morning saying I need something to write about or I owe the world a book. It’s totally fine with me if I don’t have anything. If I’m gonna name something or if I’m going to bother going the year long trouble of writing a book, it’s because I’m frustrated. The only reason I do any of this is because no one else has done it in a way that I think is going to push an idea forward that I think is worth addressing.”

I’ve thought about this for a while and compared what he says to the way I feel about why I write or explore an idea.

I wrote Grace for the Good Girl and Graceful because I saw myself in the girls in our youth group. Jesus didn’t seem to be an answer to real problems in their lives. He was only an example to follow when they wanted to be good Christians.

This gross distortion of the Gospel broke my heart and made me mad. Are we teaching our students a compartmental salvation? And am I partially to blame for that?

So yes, frustration was the first spark of my motivation.

Being frustrated didn’t make me qualified or ready. But it did wake something up within me, something that compelled me to move, something that made me want to get ready.

The frustration rolled into a compulsion towards change – passion to communicate a message, to move into the chaos of the questions even if I didn’t have all the answers.

But being frustrated about an issue and compelled to do something about it won’t sustain the message for the long-term. For me, what really keeps me moving is the hope of something better.

In my experience, when I am frustrated and passionate without hope, I’m vulnerable to cynicism. If I don’t have hope for change, despair creeps in and I want to give up.

Am I able to peer behind the mysterious curtain of the present and catch a glimpse of what could be?

Am I willing to move into the darkness even though I don’t feel fully qualified or confident or prepared?

These are important questions for me to ask about the work I do. There are plenty of things that frustrate me. But that doesn’t mean I am called to tackle them all. It’s only when I sense all three of these motivations working together that I begin to accept I might need to explore an idea, a thought, or move towards influencing change.

Frustration wakes me up.

Passion gets me moving.

Hope keeps me going.

What about you?

What frustrates you?

What compels you?

What do you most hope for?

Maybe these questions will help you define and refine your goals, your dreams for yourself or for others, and your desire for change.

A quick thanks to you for your kind comments, emails and prayers regarding my last post. John read some of your responses as well and afterwards he looked at me and said, “Wow. A lot of people are in transition.” So here’s to waiting, to believing, and to seeing what’s next.

23 Comments · Filed Under: courage, ministry, vocation, writing

What Now? (and why my husband is quitting his job)

May 20, 2013

The book return slot was out of order at the library so I had to walk in to return my books. Since I was already inside, I decided to browse around a little, just to see if anything caught my eye.

library books

I walked out with a stack of books I didn’t plan on, one of them by Ann Patchett called What Now? The small book is actually a commencement speech she gave at her alma mater, Sarah Lawrence College, and it seemed short enough to read in one sitting. (Two, as it turns out, but close enough).

The main reason why I ended up taking this book home was because of these words from the dust jacket:

“What now? is not just a panic-stricken question tossed out into a dark unknown. What now? can also be our joy. It is a declaration of possibility, of promise, of chance. It acknowledges that our future is open, that we may well do more than anyone expected of us, that at every point in our development we are still striving to grow.”

sky

John and I are living in a What Now? kind of moment, so this book seemed fitting.

If you go to our church or receive my letter every month, you already know this. But I thought it was time to go ahead and share the news here on the blog.

After 12 years as a youth pastor, my husband is quitting his job.

And after his last day at work on June 30th, we’re not sure what we’re going to do next.

There are so many angles I could share this news from – I could tell you of our finances, our hope for the future, our life stage, our thoughts about church and community.

My rational good girl side wants to over-explain myself and assure you that we are not stepping blindly or making any spontaneous decisions.

But for now I don’t want to talk about those parts of this transition. I just want to let you in on what is happening in my life. And here it is, in four words: We are dreaming together.

whenever

In the mornings, after we take our three kids to school, we talk about what it means to have the Spirit of Jesus Christ himself living within us. And if you don’t know him, I realize that sentence sounds insane. But if you do know him, maybe you’ll agree that Christ himself is the most spectacular gift.

As we talk, we consider our individual personalities and our mutual desire to contribute to the spiritual conversation in our local community.

We toss around ridiculous ideas about what we might like to do, what shape our vocational dreams might take, what context there might be for me, a woman who comes alive through writing and conversation about the deeper life and John, a man with the training and heart of a pastor.

We consider how we long to listen and be spiritual friends with others and what that even means.

For the first time in our marriage, we are cultivating a respectful curiosity for our mutual desire as a couple.

We laugh.

We roll our eyes at ourselves.

We take notes.

We make plans.

We pray.

Sometimes we worry.

Other times we tear up.

We tear up because we are beginning to catch the tiniest glimpse of a vision and what we see both delights and terrifies us, depending on the day.

We also embrace the distinct possibility that we might be a little bit crazy.

john and em

But here is what makes this crazy ride worth taking: I’m watching my husband come alive in ways I never thought were possible for him. And I feel courage growing inside me in the place where fear used to live.

I’m telling you this because in a way I’m sure you’re not aware, you are part of this transformation.

Writing at Chatting at the Sky for the past seven years has served to wake up part of my soul. I sincerely hope that makes sense and I apologize for my inability to explain it further than that right now. But perhaps you know what I mean?

I know we aren’t the only ones in the midst of transition. This time of year represents transition for a lot of you – graduations, weddings, the end of school, the beginning of something new. Maybe you’re grieving a loss, a move, a heartbreak. Maybe you’re asking what in the world is going on in your own life.

One way to ask that question is with a frantic soul, a furrowed brow and two tightly clenched fists, What now?!? Admittedly, that is always a temptation for me.

But there is another way to ask – same words, different posture. In the midst of the waiting, of the wondering, of the time of transition, we can rehearse the things we know for sure.

Our lives are hidden with Christ in God.

Nothing can separate us from his love.

We will never be alone.

And so we ask with hopeful expectation, with open hands and a willingness to sit with our questions as we whisper these words before God. What now?

For us? We don’t know. But we’ll be sure to keep you posted.

“Sometimes the circumstances at hand force us to be braver than we actually are, and so we knock on doors and ask for assistance. Sometimes not having any idea where we’re going works out better than we could possibly have imagined.”

-Ann Patchett, What Now?

71 Comments · Filed Under: courage, marriage, ministry

what happens in our listening rooms

May 1, 2013

As I walk through the back door of the small building, I hear the low chatter from the group down the hall, feel the familiar warmth that comes with rooms filled with food and conversation.

Tonight is our last meeting and I briefly think back to that night in February when we met for the first time – how I was nervous to come because I only knew two of the people who would be here. And both of them were men.

the listening room

Since then, we have gathered in the downstairs level of this small church, a healthy mix of both men and women – various ages and life stages. But it isn’t for Bible study and it isn’t a class.

There are no experts here.

We come as artists – that is the common ground where we meet. But we aren’t here to sell or showcase our art. Instead, we are here to enter into a safe community of people who are (as the gathering description says) “dedicated to the idea that we can’t do it alone, and that our hurts and egos and insecurities are keeping us from more perfect expression.”

This is The Listening Room, a bench for artists.

Most nights we sit in a wide circle in this basement and have conversation around pre-determined topics designed to uncover the artist behind the art. But tonight is our final meeting, and so they have pushed the long tables together to make a square in the center of the room, spread it with a disposable cloth, set out painted mason jars filled with pom pom tissue flowers.

We share a family dinner, conversation, and our art.

There are guitars and singing, autobiography and novel readings, sketches and paintings, creatures and clay. When it’s my turn, I read a few pages from the last chapter of A Million Little Ways, my book no one has read yet.

We end the night thankful, making plans to gather for a meal again now that The Listening Room is over.

Alone on my drive home, I realize I’m gripping the steering wheel and breathing more shallow than normal. I can’t stop tapping my left leg.

I feel alive and kind of terrified.

What is this? I wonder. Why was that so hard for me, to read my words in front of them? I’m supposed to be used to this kind of thing by now.

It’s true, over the past two years I’ve done a fair amount of speaking in front of people. I’ve given talks and led workshops. I have used microphones.

So why is it that reading my words in a dimly lit church basement among twenty kind artists ushers my body into trembling?

As I drive, words come to mind that offer an explanation for this feeling – they are words I read from someone quoting Brene Brown and immediately it comes to me: this isn’t fear I’m feeling.

This is vulnerability.

In this moment, I recognize the difference, take note of what this feels like.

Fear tells me to run away from connection.

Vulnerability dares me to run towards it.

It turns out the emotional line between those two experiences is fragile and thin.

This is what happens when we create rooms for listening. In these kinds of rooms, people meet on benches and share a common experience. And we stay engaged by being curious over people, the image bearers of God. But for me, in rooms like this, it’s important to share, too.

Part of listening is coming alive in the presence of others as we watch them come alive in our presence as well.

What are the listening rooms in your life? Do you have any? Do you need some?

35 Comments · Filed Under: art, courage

a letter to a young artist

April 15, 2013

Dear Young Artist

 

Dear Young Artist,

It feels strange and uncomfortable in a way for me to be writing to you because I feel like a young artist myself. Not in terms of age, but in respect to practice and calling and purpose.

I have so much to learn.

I suppose that is my first point. As you grow into your craft and practice it more, a feeling of competency and arrival will probably never accompany it.

It’s like when I first brought twins home from the hospital – I couldn’t believe the doctors and nurses allowed me to take them. Shouldn’t a responsible grown up be in charge? But I looked around and my husband did too and all we saw was each other.

We didn’t feel capable but we didn’t have time to wait for our feelings to catch up with our reality. There was too much work to do.

If you are waiting to feel qualified, certified or professional, stop. Give yourself permission to work from your smallness, from your humility and your humanity . . . visit Be Small Studios to read the rest of this letter.

My friend Annie Barnett (different from Annie Downs – I love me some girls named Annie) is starting a new series on her blog, Letters to a Young Artist, and she invited me to join in. The series was inspired by this letter written by Makoto Fujimura. I enjoyed writing this letter, though after I sent it to her I thought of about a hundred different things I wish I had said instead. But part of the process is deciding to call something finished even though it isn’t exactly how you want it to be. Visit Annie to read the finished letter.

8 Comments · Filed Under: art, courage

on being brave when you feel wimpy

April 12, 2013

courage

Ever feel like you might possibly maybe perhaps have something to offer the world around you but you just can’t manage to find the courage you need to open your hands and offer it?

Or open your mouth and say it?

Or pick up your pen and write it?

Or swing wide your door and let them in?

Today at (in)courage, I’m sharing 3 ways to be brave when you feel like a wimp.

6 Comments · Filed Under: (in)courage, courage

for when you need hope to float up

February 25, 2013

hope floats
When Sandra Bullock got up to present an award at the Oscars last night, I remembered her words at the very end of Hope Floats when Birdie shares things her mama always used to say.

“Beginnings are scary, endings are usually sad, but it’s the middle that counts the most. You need to remember that when you find yourself at the beginning. Just give hope a chance to float up.”

Sometimes life feels like one long middle – one monotone list of sameness.

But then there are other times, like these days for me, when the middle drops from under my feet and life feels more like a series of endings and beginnings folding over one another.

If you’re standing in the middle, I hope you’ll remember it hasn’t always been this way and one day it won’t be like this again. Collect what you need, be faithful where you are, and remember the sacred gift of ordinary days.

If you’re stepping into a beginning, remember love drives out fear, you are not alone, and courage will grow as you move.

And if you find yourself approaching an ending, looking back over the colorful mess of joy and sorrow that have shaped all the days before,  give yourself permission to grieve your losses, celebrate your loves, and anticipate the start of something new.

Are you in a middle, a beginning, an ending, or some combination of all three?

34 Comments · Filed Under: courage

what happens when an artist chooses generosity

February 8, 2013

It was a long day of filming the Try Hard Life series in Charlotte. Several friends and family members were gathered there for the day to help us pull it off. We took a break for lunch.

As I tried not to spill salsa on my pants, I listened to Dad and Reeve talk in the kitchen about how her dad makes guitars. They talked more about music and he asked if she writes her own songs.

She said she did and he asked her what she likes to write about.

And then, the question musicians always hear, and depending on their personality, they either long for or dread:

Would you play a little something for us now?

Her face turned red and she smiled small, shrugged her shoulders and looked around the room. Was she waiting for someone to object? No one did.

We had the time and my brother in law had an old guitar. She settled in to her place on the sofa and we continued to eat as she began to strum.

Time stopped a little and we held our breath. Lucky for you, the camera was rolling.

Reeve singing Night Owl.

Reeve took us on a four minute trip into her soul. We were quiet there at the end simply because we hadn’t come back yet.

She could have said no, but I think she would have regretted it. We would have regretted it, too.

When an artist chooses to be generous, everyone wins. Even though she wrote the song about her own life, we could all somehow relate to it. The more personal you are with your art, the more generally it applies to those who are there to receive it.

It seems counter-intuitve, I know.

Add more of yourself to your work – more of your personality, preferences, and desire. The more we see you, the more we’ll see ourselves.

Go here to learn more about Reeve’s music.

44 Comments · Filed Under: art, courage, inspiration

what it really means to get in the best shape of your life

January 2, 2013

You are picking your phrases, your one words, your goals for 2013. You are tending your lists and your desires and I hope your families and friends cheer you on in your endeavors this week.

As you consider what this year will hold, how perhaps through exercise you would like to change the shape of your thighs or the shape of your waist, consider also this:

What does your life hold right now?

What is the shape of your life?

I read Gift From the Sea by Anne Morrow Lindbergh this summer. In it, she answers that question. As we consider where we’re going, the most important thing to know first is where we are.

Getting into the shape of your life means climbing into this right-now place, fold yourself into the rhythm of your current truth.

What makes up the silhouette?

What is flowing from your heart?

Where do your feet now stand?

Who is holding your hand?

The shape of my life begins with my family, the five of us living in our home together in North Carolina. We enjoy time together and time apart. We choose love when we remember and forgiveness when we forget. We stumble and then we help each other up.

We have desires for our future and those desires are important.

I am deeply curious about the mystery of Christ and how his life comes out of his people, how his life comes out of me.

I want to learn how to be a better writer, to accept the dare of pouring words over the shared condition of humanity in a way that somehow says to others, Me too and, There’s hope.

As a couple, my husband and I are open to change and transformation in ways we have perhaps never been before. There is beauty in the waking.

I want to be fully alive as the person, mother, and wife I uniquely am, not the one who others think I ought to be. I’ll finish with Anne’s words:

“But I want first of all — in fact, as an end to these other desires — to be at peace with myself. I want a singleness of eye, a purity of intention, a central core to my life that will enable me to carry out these obligations and activities as well as I can. I want, in fact — to borrow from the language of the saints — to live ‘in grace’ as much of the time as possible.”

Anne Morrow Lindbergh, Gift from the Sea

May all of my endeavors to lead a meaningful life be thwarted and interrupted if I seek to accomplish them in my own strength.

May I ever know the presence of Jesus in the center seat of my personality as the only glue that holds me together.

May I not set off to discover myself, but may I settle in as the person I most deeply am and know he is God.

What is the shape of your life?

25 Comments · Filed Under: courage, faith, family, freedom

the courage we all so desperately need

December 28, 2012

The starfish sits on our dining room table, a few feet away from the white Christmas tree I found at the Goodwill. There is a lot of white in that room and I like it that way.

White is the color of space.

And so we head into 2013 in a few days and I find myself longing for the beach already. I do odd things in the midst of change, in the shifting from the right-now to the will-be. I tend to rush ahead to the next thing, but I don’t do it as much as I used to.

Sit, girl. Stay in the place where you are.

Tomorrow (Saturday) I will stand in front of hundreds of college students and speak out loud about the things I know for sure – the grace and love God has for his people. I speak at 2 EST. Pray for courage?

Even as I write that, I think of Newtown, I think of Jennie’s friend Sarah in a hospital in Texas, I think of Nish giving birth to a brand new baby girl in Utah, I think of home here in North Carolina. There is much to grieve and there is much to celebrate, all at the same time.

Jesus is the courage we all so desperately need, no matter what we’re doing.

May your weekend be filled with thoughtful reflection and hopeful anticipation.

13 Comments · Filed Under: courage, faith

5 ways to know if it’s time for a mustache

December 13, 2012

It wasn’t my intention to put a mustache on my car. The Man works with high school kids so he really got it for his. We left the toy store that afternoon, smiling as we carried out the giant magnet. But when we got home, it didn’t take long to realize there was no good place to put the stache on his car – the grill and the headlights and yadayada – so he stuck it on mine “just to see.” That was nearly a year ago.

At first it was funny but now I mostly forget about it until I’m sitting at a stoplight and people walk across the street in front of me and stare and laugh point. And I get all weird and throw up my hands, What?! and get defensive.

Until I remember I have a mustache on my car. And then I laugh, too.

For months, I’ve meaning to take it off. I mean, I’m not the mustache on my car kind of person, really. But then, I keep not taking it off. I started thinking about why and came up with five possible reasons. Maybe you need a mustache, too?

1. If you’re easily offended, it might be time to put a mustache on your car. Give them a reason to point and laugh, and then laugh with them.

2. If you think your car is too nice for the foolishness, it might be time for a stache. In this case, you might need to skip the magnet and go ahead and get the fuzzy one.

3. If you are taking yourself too seriously, put a mustache on it. It’s hard to be introspective and twisty in the mustache mobile.

4. If you are feeling lonely? Mustache. People aren’t threatened by a girl in a van with mustache. You will delight children and their parents. Your friends will recognize you coming from far away, so when they get close enough to wave, you’ll see them. No mustache and they won’t recognize you until you’ve already passed. Too late for the wave.

5. If you aren’t the mustache type, it’s time definitely time for a mustache. Things have become too predictable. Shake it up a little. Laugh at yourself. Be silly for no reason.

Have things become a bit too serious for you? What are some mustaches you’re embracing these days?

 

28 Comments · Filed Under: courage, freedom
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