chatting at the sky

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 faith Filed Under breathe, faith 46 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

for when your future keeps changing

January 13, 2012

We live a thousand lives in one lifetime, from playing Barbies on the covered front porch in that small Indiana town, to riding bikes to the mall beside Duck Creek; from longing for love and true acceptance, to sending those tiny babies off to kindergarten with deep prayers, shaky knees, and a slight bit of thrill.

One season of my life I spent as a sign language interpreter at a high school. I interpreted what the teacher said into sign language, and if the Deaf student had a question or a presentation, I was their voice. After a few years, I became the interpreter coordinator at a local university and it was my job to hire, fire, and schedule interpreters for all Deaf students on campus. I put in at least 40 hours of interpreting, advising, and scheduling during those years. That was my life. (Continue reading at (in)courage)…

Filed Under (in)courage 7 Comments

the eternal struggle in the artist’s mind

January 11, 2012

For the days when you want to push a button and have your kitchen self-clean, want to walk out the front door and not stop until you hit water, want to curl up in a ball on the couch with a heated blanket, a bowl of ice cream, and a ten-high stack of your favorite fiction books – know that you are not alone.

For the days when you are so inspired by your art that you see sparks, when tears come just because this life is a miracle, when you see the beauty in the mundane and ridiculous – know that we need your perspective. And tomorrow, so will you. Write it down.

For the days when you want to throw your laptop in the trash, want to put your art in a safe place, want to hide under a cloak of invisibility and hope no one notices – know that you have the freedom to hide if you want. But is that really what you want?

For the days when you desperately need a break, when you want silence more than chocolate or sleep, when your soul flails about inside you for a breath – take one. Breathe deep the mystery of Christ, receive his favor of you, be loved.

There is a difference between hiding and resting. When we hide, we are afraid. When we rest, we are wise. It can take time to figure out which one is at work. But once we notice the signs, we’ll know for next time.

It was a pleasure to read your comments yesterday. Out of the many who spoke up, not one person said, No, I am not an artist, I don’t want to be considered an artist, and I have no idea what you’re talking about. Pass me a calculator. Maybe it’s just because of the type of people this blog attracts, or maybe those who feel that way simply don’t speak up. Or maybe we’re on to something.

Maybe we know that when we were woven together, He wove art into our beings. He made hands that want to shape both clay and hearts, eyes that long to see beauty even in the midst of chaos, spirits that long for eternity with such desperation that we will stay up way too long and get up way too early just to try to turn a phrase or write a lyric that will capture the smallest glimpse of heaven. We are made with intention, purpose, heart. O Lord, may we receive your making of us so that we may make art with our lives in response.

If you simply haven’t heard me talk enough (and surely you are tired of my voice by now), today is the third and final interview with Bob and Audrey on My New Day in Winnipeg. Our Canadian friends can watch on their TVs later today and the rest of you can watch all three interviews online. They may only be available for a limited time. I’m just glad my high school girls helped me pick out my clothes. Hallelujah and Amen. PS. I’m sure I used that apostrophe wrong in the title. Tell me I didn’t. Amen again.

Tagged art Filed Under art, inspired 41 Comments

are you an artist?

January 10, 2012

For a year now, I’ve been watching people. I watch them at restaurants, movie theaters, church, and TJ Maxx. I watch them on TV, at the bank, on the street, at the airport. I think about God, how it says in 2 Chronicles that his eyes range to and fro throughout the whole earth in search of those whose hearts are fully committed. I’m searching for something else, but my eyes feel to and fro-ish while I do it. I can’t help it. I’m looking for artists.

It’s a hot topic, art. Last year Annie declared 2011 as a year that we will make art. Well, she declared it to me, in an email. And we did make art, yes we did. And I was challenged with what that actually meant, making art. I found myself clumping the painting type in with the living type and sometimes that was uncomfortable, though I couldn’t place why. Now I’m distracted with curiosity.

Everyone has their definitions but if you believe them all, I fear this art begins to lose all meaning. Most of them draw a clear line between artists (writers, singers, painters, dancers) and non-artists (mathemeticians, bankers, scientists, administrators, politicians). Then there is another group of people who find themselves between the artist they either used to or want to be, and the life they have now as a mother, a temp worker, a daycare owner, a student.

I realize a lot of people don’t consider themselves artists and have no desire to do so. But then there are a whole ‘nother group of people who long to identify themselves as artists but are terrified to do so. And in the midst of all this, I sit with my question – why is this three letter word so mysterious? All people are creative. But are all people artists? Is it important to make that distinction or not?

At the yogurt shop this weekend, I sat next to my kids on an unusually warm January Saturday. As I ate my vanilla yogurt with strawberries on top (and also oreos who am I kidding?) I watched a woman with a pink apron on zip around the shop like she had a jet pack on her back. She wiped the counters, changed out the sprinkles, chatted with the customers. She was pleasant, lighthearted, intentional. “She works like she owns the place,” The Man said to me.

I thought the same thing but with different words. She worked like an artist. She was motivated beyond what we could see, doing more than what was required. She seemed to fit there. Art isn’t so much the things we do but the way in which we do them. May I ask you? If you consider yourself an artist, tell us why. And if you don’t, tell us why not.

Tagged art Filed Under art 70 Comments

one hundred gifts

January 9, 2012

Last July, I began to count the gifts. There are a sea of black journals on my bookshelf, but this one is red and I wanted it that way. I want to think thankfulness when I see that flash of color. Ann invites us to share our gifts in community, counting one by one. Maybe one day I’ll count out loud. I wanted to start mine quietly at first, wanted to be able to carry the gifts around with me. And so I started last July, when my father-in-law was very sick. I made it to 100 this weekend.I know that isn’t very many, 100 gifts, considering the sea of miracles I walk among everyday. It has been a slow listing, but it has been sweet. I’m thankful to Ann for the challenge, the joy dare. I long for space for my soul to breathe more than anything else. I look for the blessings and I discount the sufferings. We were told in this world we would have trouble, yet I’m still surprised when I do.

Thankfulness sometimes feels like tightrope walking. I record the gifts as I see them, knowing as I do that each one is just that – a gift, not a trophy. I want to acknowledge the gifts without holding them too tightly. I cannot possibly maintain and manage all of my own motives and desire. This is where the mystery of Christ meets the frailty of humanity. I am content to sit down where I am and acknowledge that I haven’t figured all these things out yet. And even that is a gift. Celebrate your smallness and join Ann and her gratitude community this year in counting the gifts?

And if you are interested, today you can watch as I talk with Bob and Audrey on My New Day TV about Grace for the Good Girl. This is part one of three that will air this week in Canada. So glad to meet these two. What fun they are together!

Tagged thankfulness Filed Under breathe 7 Comments

for your weekend

January 6, 2012

May your weekend be filled with fruit, both the kind you eat and the kind that develops character. May this typically gray time of year carry uncharacteristically colorful gifts, and may you receive them with open hands. Dare to step into this mysterious new year with the kind of wonder you can’t control – open, curious, hilarious wonder. Enjoy your weekend, friends.

And ps? I asked a trivia I never answered. Dad was the first one of us to start a blog. Then me. Then my sister … for those of you who can’t sleep without knowing.

Filed Under a prayer of blessing 5 Comments