We Can Do Hard Things...Right?!?

This last month has been loads of emotions. We've moved, we've started new jobs, and the kids have started a new daycare. We have had an incredible welcome to Wilmington and are loving our new city. But there's so much that hasn't been figured out yet. My job has been great. A very steep learning curve but still seeing lots of fun and interesting things. The one thing that I'm still having trouble with is Isaiah's transition to his new "school".

I have felt a wonderful sense that the kids' daycare is right where they need to be. It sits 2 minutes from my office and is an easy ride home. The staff members are calm and caring. They have some great curriculum and projects. They offer gym and music and soccer and ballet and art. And although there is so much to learn and do, the one thing they don't offer my sweet, eldest child is a built-in best friend.

Isaiah was "Big Man on Campus" when he was in Chattanooga. He was in the class with the kids he'd know since he was a year old. He knew where he stood on the totem pole there. He was confident and probably a little bossy. Now, we are standing in uncharted waters and I'm seeing that he's having a hard time getting his footing.

In my parenting thought process, I want to raise kids who know what it feels like to fail. I want them to have the fortitude to work on getting through something tough without me micromanaging the situation in their favor. I read the articles about this frequently and agree whole-heartedly. But dang it's hard when you are watching your kiddo struggle! In fact, I hate it!

We've talked to the teacher and made her aware of his struggle. She know that he doesn't have a buddy. He even cried when Bennett was sick and not at school because he didn't have anyone to play with at recess. Do you hear my heart ripping in half? He doesn't know that I want to stay at home with him every day just so he doesn't have to suffer. He doesn't know how many tears I've cried worrying that I have emotionally scarred him for life by making this move. He doesn't know how bad I want to say, "I'll fix this for you!"

But I won't. I know that he's having a hard time, but sometimes we have to do hard things. I know that he will get through this and that being the new kid just plain sucks! I know that kindergarten is going to be a breeze for him because he knows what it feels like to be left out, just as so many will their first week at a new school. And I hope that this will make him more compassionate to the kid that is swinging on the swings by himself and it will prompt him to join that kid and make a new friend.

I also have a running daydream that this pressure of being the new kid will turn him into a hard-nose hater who rebels at the earliest point he can and ends up a delinquent and on my couch until he's 40. Maybe I exaggerate how much this is affecting him!

I now understand why our parenting culture has gone the way of everyone gets a trophy, everyone deserves a prize, no failures, only success for everything. The reason is because we don't want to see that hurt, we don't want our sweet kids experiencing pain. We don't want to have to parent through the hard stuff, or the stuff we don't have a good answer for. We want the easy fix because we cannot guarantee the ending of how the suffering will turn out.

I'm trying to remind myself of a quote that Brad posted. This is by David Brooks:
   "When most people think about the future, they dream up ways they might live happier lives. But notice this phenomenon: When people remember the crucial events that formed them, they don't usually talk about happiness. It is usually the ordeals that seem most significant. Most people shoot for happiness but feel formed through suffering."

I want Isaiah to grow from the struggle. I want him to find new ways to make friends. I want him to know that he is amazing and my hero for trying to have a good day, even when it's hard. I tell him this before he leaves every morning. And he smiles. And I know that he's going to be okay...maybe I will be too!

Home is Where The Heart Is

I am a bit ashamed to admit how much not selling our house has put a damper on an otherwise exciting time in our life. Every day I check my phone multiple times a day, hoping the real estate agent has texted saying there is a showing...because then there is a chance we could get an offer. Meanwhile, I forget that we have both been welcomed into new positions with excitement, we do have a place to rest our head during the early stages of this transition, and the kids are already enrolled in a great daycare. But the house keeps coming up as a blemish to this otherwise bright future.

The other night I really broke down about this. After the 5th person asked if we had a house in Wilmington and after the 5th explanation of, "We can't buy anything until our current house sells" (you know, trying to be financially responsible), I just started praying. I prayed that instead of the house showing how good it looked that it would instead it would emanate the love that filled its walls. I prayed that the joy of bringing home a newborn baby would be ingrained in the foundation. I hoped that many Christmases of children sitting, trying to wait patiently for the "GO!" signal on the stairs and the anticipation of the excitement would be as evident as the paint choices. I want for the prospective owners to know of the wonderful neighbors that would mow our yard when two small children were needing our attention more than our home's exterior. Or the many knocks on the door inviting us to go sledding down a fresh-coated snowy hill. Those are things that are really hard to advertise, but I pray that they will somehow convey.

I want the right person to buy our house. I want to know that it will be a place of welcome and warmth. And even though I just want it sold, I can't just be okay with my home just becoming a house for someone else. And maybe that is why they say "Home is where the heart is." Because as much as I want to be fully vested in our transition to Wilmington, I'm fixated on this home. As we pack, the realization of our departure becomes more evident. And maybe that's why I dragged my feet right up to the point of not doing the packing. And I left that for my husband to do as our kids and I traveled for the days before we all move to North Carolina. I'm having a difficult time separating from this structure. We have been so blessed by this place and I have put so much of myself into revitalizing a  1980s decor to a more modern version.

And some point soon, we will pull out of the driveway one last time, close the garage door (just as we have a thousand times before), and close another wonderful chapter of our lives. That makes me sad because right now, we don't have the next chapter fully opened in front of us. We will be without a home, and that is actually harde r than being houseless.  But I know that we will be together and okay and that this time that seems so drawn out and never-ending will end. We have been so lucky in our big blue house on the hill and a little part of my heart will be left behind in Chattanooga because of our home.

Who Is My Neighbor?

This past Thursday in Chattanooga could be described as the most surreal of my life. The nurse practitioner student at our clinic reported a shooting at the river park my family frequents often. My first thought was my husband, who will sometimes go for a mid-morning run. Could he have been there? A text confirming that he was fine put that to rest quickly. Then word came in that there were other places in the city where gunfire had broken out and that this was a shooting rampage. The hospitals were on lockdown, my children's daycare was on lockdown. My next worry was could we pick the kids up. More news stories revealed the gruesome details of the day. First, an officer injured, then death (but no known count), then the shooter dead. Four Marines died Thursday and a sailor lost his life 2 days later due to injuries sustained at the scene. By 4pm on Thursday, the name of the gunman started appearing on local and national new sources. And then, the announcement that he lived in a middle-class neighborhood in Hixson, TN. My husband called shortly after that telling me not to take the kids home, our neighborhood was on lockdown and a raid was being conducted about 10 houses down. That's right, my neighbor was a gunman in a crime that is now an international investigation.

I would like to say I felt something when all of this was revealed. But the truth is, I didn't know what to feel. Maybe the first inappropriate thought on my mind was that our house was not likely to sell after this. The next thought was just disgust that my life had been inconvenienced. But as the days have started to separate from the initial numbness and shock of a terror attack that was literally so close to home, I've begun thinking, who is my neighbor and how am I suppose to react in this situation?

I didn't know the family personally. I would say hello or wave as we walked the dog around the cul-de-sac. I knew they were Muslim by their garb but I didn't have any other interaction in the split seconds we were in each others presence. I was asked by reporters if there were any signs or anything weird and I honestly answered that our neighborhood was a quiet and nice one. People were always cordial but other than a select few, I didn't know anyone all that well. So who was my neighbor? I don't know. And who are still my neighbors? That I cannot tell you either.

I am Christ follower and I have also been through a very public family ordeal so as I felt emotions welling up, it took a while to recognize that maybe God had something to say about how I publicly addressed this issue, about how I condemned the killer, but yet how I will learn to be a neighbor to those other people who don't act or look or believe like me. "Love your neighbor, but hate your enemy..." But Lord, what if that person is both? But God says, look at what I sent my son to say about that. Matthew 5:38-48 "It is said 'Eye for an eye, and tooth for a tooth.' But I tell you do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the left one also. And if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your cloak as well. If anyone forces you to go one mile, go a second with them as well. Give to the one who asks you and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you. You have heard 'love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those that persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect."

I am not going to say that I know how to do that. I feel like if any sympathy is given to this man's family, people are quick to label it anti-American or claim that I couldn't possibly grieve the soldiers as well. I'm getting really dismayed at the current rhetoric in our country where we have to constantly choose a side and it's always an all or nothing stance. I want to still hope that the family did not know what was going on, and if that's true, how even more devastated they are than the rest of us.

As I drove by the memorial at the Naval Center yesterday, the overwhelming sense of loss hit me. I realized that those 5 servicemen took the same road into work that day, not anticipating it would be their last. They probably had a false sense of security, just as I do everyday, that this is America and things like attacks on military and civilians happen in "other places". And I just cried. I am so devastated that this happen to those neighbors guarding our country. It wasn't fair or just and it could've been me pulling into that park that day.

Isaiah, my oldest son, has been identifying lots of people as his neighbors recently. I don't know when this idea was planted in him, but he's been questioning, "Mom, are they my neighbor?" a lot. Finally, yesterday he boldly stated that we are just all neighbors in this world. Ugh, out of the mouths of babes! Why does Jesus give us such a hard task of loving all. And here my son is reiterating that love in simplest terms. The comments section on any of the recent news stories provides ample proof that we are certainly not doing a very good job of showing the world the command Jesus gives in Matthew 5:38-48. It is so easy to be convicted and righteous on the internet. We never see the other people eye-to-eye, we never engage in a way that builds relationships, we never assume we will be in a similar situation. So words can be used as daggers. But what about when you know someone outside the headlines? What about caring about what happens to them when the camera and news crews have gone on to the next great story? That's when we show our neighbors, enemies, loved ones and friends that there is a God of grace, love, and hope. And we portray that in our lives so that they start to ask, "How do I get some of that?" Jesus never solved a problem by responding in a comments section. He engaged those who needed to hear of grace and love. And he stood by those who weren't considered a good neighbor.

My neighbor is a gunman who heinously killed 5 people in Chattanooga on July 16th, 2015. His actions hurt people across this entire community and country. But if I allow my response to continue the hurt, then nothing in this world will ever change. The news headlines will capture these cowardly acts more and more often, and it becomes the glorification of death. Because if we don't become neighbors who care for and love one another, we have missed the opportunity to share Christ's radical message of love and life. And if that doesn't get transmitted to this weary world, I fear what is to come. This is my call to fill my heart with the message Christ so clearly gives and to live it instead of just write about it. Because there is no telling when someone shares this love, what could change in the hearts of those who get to experience it.

The Awkward-ness of moving on...

Church is never just a job. While I have the luxury of going home and leaving most of my work at the office, Brad has never been able to separate home/work life. He's not meant to either, because church and spirit and life are suppose to be intertwined. That's why as we embark on this journey of following God's call away from our current beloved church home, I am dreading the thought of saying good-bye.

This church was heaven-sent. Brad was basically a phone call away from leaving the ministry 5 years ago. But we found this little church on a busy thoroughfare in Chattanooga that loved us so well. It helped us bring two babies into existence and then loved them with all that they had. It has given me women and confidantes who have helped me and supported me through the roughest year of my life. We have been encouraged and supported and cared for so abundantly, that the thought of hurting anyone almost paralyzes me and makes me hesitate our next move.

We ARE moving. Our children know and while they don't truly understand what we are leaving behind, they are excited for the next adventure. The awkwardness of this move is that we are so content with where we are that it almost seems ridiculous to leave. But that is where church differs too. When God sends word to you that his spirit is fluid and there are others that you must, "Go and make disciples" of there is a very human instinct to not listen. But we have always erred on the side of God knows what is best and He provides us with opportunities even if we are not looking.

The call to a new church is unlike anything comparable in the business realm. I will tell my co-workers that we are moving and they will be sad and wish me the best in my new position. There will probably be a send-off celebration and all will leave feeling good about the parting. But church is like a family member. They did not see this end of a true relationship coming, so feelings will be hurt and in many ways some will not wish us a fond farewell. I understand this, because we have shared births, deaths, job loss, family catastrophes, celebrations of hope renewed, and we sometimes just clung to each other because we didn't know where else to turn. The part of remaining mum on our calling to another place has been extremely hard, because I like to put all my chips on the table and rationalize all the thoughts, the hours of prayer, the contemplation, and finally the clarity that comes from following God's will for our lives. But it is essential to the process that our current church family know that we are still 100% dedicated and for them even though God has started preparing our hearts for a change, so the silence of our decision making remained intact.

There is a paradox of feelings: sadness for the comfort and safety of leaving our present church family behind and the excitement of what is to come, dreading the good-byes while welcoming new hellos, preparation to leave the only home my two boys can remember and the search for a new place. It is hard to feel like I have the right to be excited about this because there is so much of what we hold as truths right now that will be missing from a new place. Yet God is present in all of this. His love for his people knows no boundaries and we live in this crazy world of Facebook, Skype, and air travel that make seeing those we live far from more easy.

The decision to move to Chattanooga was easy. We were having a child and our family was here. We would be close to Nashville and we were beyond excited to be in the same city as Brad's brother, sister-in-law and nephew. That is the hardest part about this next step. We will be moving to a place where, once again, no family lives. We don't have the security of calling at a moments notice and having Mohm show up to take care of the grandkids. We cannot call up our nephew for a play date the next night. This part breaks my heart because I cherish the closeness of family so much. I want my kids to know they are not just house guests on a whirlwind trip to the relatives. I pray that their bonds with their cousin, aunt, uncle, and grandparents grows stronger than ever. But I know nothing is guaranteed, and we are determined to try our hardest to preserve those relationships and are making a point to prioritize traveling back to visit family, both mine and the McDowells.

I want people to know that it is okay to feel hurt and betrayed. I want them to understand that this was a prayerful, unexpected decision on our part. I never want anyone for one second to think that we were disgruntled or were searching for "something better". The truth is ministry doesn't usually allow a minister to just get a job across town (I know there are some examples where this does happen). Ministry usually means a major upheaval in the congregation and in the minister's family's lives. Everyone is left with a sense of uneasiness as the thought of pulpit committees and interims weigh heavy on the those who have loved other ministers and seen them move on know wholeheartedly. My hope in all these feelings of excitement, hurt, anxiety, love, is that each step is touched by God's presence. I pray that our current church knows what a gem they are and that they realize what a saving grace they were to us. They were the mother that bandaged some pretty significant wounds and helped us flourish into competent teens. And much like a teenager leaving home for college, we are on edge about the next step, but pretty sure a leap of faith is necessary.

The awkwardness of this situation has prompted complete trust in God, constant praying for those who this news will jolt and those who are waiting for us to come, and trusting that in the end we will leave being better people than the ones who came together five years ago. My excitement is to see God's kingdom being woven across all these miles that we have already traveled on our path and I know that one day, as we join together in Heaven, we can look back and say, we were God's kingdom together on Earth.

True Religion

I'm exhausted this morning! I'm ecstatic this morning! And those two competing feelings have been served via the wonderful National Championship stage thanks to Duke. Being a Duke fan is like being a Yankees fan, where there are the die-hards but there is a large number of haters. Kentucky fans hate us, UNC fans most definitely hate us, and just about anyone who likes the underdog hates us. But having been a part of this dynasty-of-a-program's fanbase and actually being a student of the school, I can tell you, there's is nothing that we wouldn't do during the months of November until (hopefully) the first week of April for this team. 

Having spent a good portion of my adult life in and around religion, I am making the bold claim that Duke basketball is a religion. I say this because I have seen people forsake all their comforts and time to devout themselves to an end goal...being present during the pinnacle of sporting rivalries...the Duke/UNC game in Cameron Indoor Stadium. I am not the first to make this comparison. While at Duke and an active participant in the InterVarsity Christian Fellowship, our staff worker shared that he believed the basketball fans practiced one of the purest and greatest examples of true religion. We had utter devotion to the cause. Sub-freezing temperatures were no reason to not be in the tents and potentially get booted out of line. We had elaborate spreadsheets that assured every second of the day was covered by a tent member. We smelled funny, we looked ragged, and perhaps some of us had to choose, good grades or a great seat to the game.

We didn't care what the rest of the world or even our fellow students thought of us because we had our eyes on the prize, the glory to come was worth the pain and toil of all the time and energy we had to expend to get into the game! We were devout, we were loyal and we were excited all the time. It was a religion in a refined form, but we worshipped the ground labeled Krzyzweskiville.  And if we got to sit at the foot of Coach K, well, we had our go-to story to tell the generations to come, if not to embellish a bit.

What I cannot seem to articulate is the energy and the feeling of being part of this amazing experience. It's hard to tell an outsider about all the benefit from basically denying ourselves our usual luxuries to "rough it" for a month and a half so that we can partake in a two-hour game. It all seemed worth it, it all was amazing. Sometimes I wish religious organizations were similar and sometime they are. But today, I'm not going to go into all the fantastic analogies of a sports idol and the church. No, today I'm going to celebrate that I have been able to enjoy this amazing sign of togetherness and "in it for the common good"-ness and mark this 5th national championship as something that fills my soul with joy and memories from other celebrations like it. And I'm also glad that I know that same joy in my "true religion" too. Go DUKE!!!!

Accepting the greatness of Easter

I have to admit, I have never been into a huge celebration of Easter. I'm a total Christmas gal. I decorate and celebrate from the moment after Thanksgiving dishes are done until the last needle falls off the Christmas tree. Lent and Easter were always paling in comparison to the massive celebration of Christmas and they just seemed like they were a lot of work, giving things up and having to recognize sins and all.

In my many years of youth groups and church camps and churches, I remember somebody once saying that Easter should be the MOST important holiday of them all. In truth, that really disturbed me because it was not my favorite, it really wasn't even in my top 3! Don't get me wrong, I realize the massive importance of the day and how it plays into Christianity. I know the crux of everything we believe is based on a risen Savior, but I guess I like my holidays to be warm and fuzzy, candelit, and Bing Crosby.

Easter is a joyous celebration, new life, resurrection, a second chance, but getting to Easter is hard. We throw our Savior to the wolves, but even more likely, when I put myself into the Passion story, I am in the pack of wolves. We talk about the hardship Christ endured and the upside-down kingdom created by this man, but in present reality, I don't see a lot of this happening in my life or in other Christians. Our country's current take on the "War of Religion" or "Religious Freedom" or religious anything is so divisive and filled with hate, it makes me wonder why Jesus would go through all of the suffering at all? Why did he give his life for people who know the whole story and ignore so much of it?

I get overwhelmed by the trudge to Calvary and the massive amounts of hate and evil still present in the world and I lose sight of the empty tomb. I forget that Jesus says, "Forgive them, Father. For they do not know what they do!" I want resurrection for everyone NOW, love for everyone NOW, a new heaven and new earth, NOW! But God knows that we all have to find our own resurrection in our life, and sometimes we have to find resurrection daily. The last year has taught me that a journey, no matter how straight it feels, can veer off course in a moment. People don't forgive easily and don't care about redemption sometimes. We are great at holding grudges and not too great at giving another grace. This past year has taught me that Easter is important. And it's not because it makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. It's important because during the absolute worst times, there is hope. There is always a chance for new life to emerge from the tombs of our souls. There is always a Savior who has seen this world against him, and there is victory over all of that.

Easter promises more hope than any other holiday on the record because it can take a wretch and give them grace. I cannot say I do that most of the time! I am challenged by Easter to be a better person, to recognize myself as a crowd follower and as a scared disciple. Easter gives me hope that despite all of that, Jesus still said, "I love you so much that I have to die for you. I love you too much to not give you hope that things can change for the better and that I will never abandon you in this journey!"

Clearly, there isn't a magic pill for that!

I have now had my hand in healthcare in some way, shape, or form for the last 7 or 8 years and as a provider, I realize how many people are looking for the magic little pill that will fix their problems. It may be weight for some, for others it's the feeling of hopelessness, for others it's the back pain. We want to be fixed! And TV commercials claim that there's got to be a cure for EVERYTHING! Don't even get me started on Dr. Oz...but I digress.

My usual spiel sounds something like, "I think these medications can help with what you are facing, but they aren't going to take away (the food, the temptations, the relative that pisses you off, the fact that you are spending a majority of your day not moving, thus making your back pain worse)." The truth is, I don't have a magic pill for anything that's hard or uncomfortable in life, but you do.

Let me give you an amazing example. I have a friend named Katie. She is one of the most talented people I know. She can create a cake just by looking at a picture. She's an amazing mother and wife. She has this gift that allows her to connect with people she hardly knows, and she also has this ability to welcome people into the things she's doing. She's also been able to lose an incredible amount of weight! She recently fit into her wedding dress (how many of us can say that?)! And I'm going to share Katie's secret, because it applies across so many things, it's the magic little pill that we don't want to swallow. Katie has an awesome story, it's an inspiration really, but it's not the training program she's used or the diet she's followed. The awesomeness of her transformation is that it was all Katie.

She made the decision to make some very drastic life changes. She's the one who sets aside 30 minutes a day to exercise, to stay away from the foods that plagued her for so long. She's the one who decided she deserved to be healthy. I make excuses every day for myself, fall into temptations and berate myself for the horrible way I feel later. It's a vicious cycle and I want the magic pill to fix the way I feel...instead I choose the magic candy bar in a lot of cases.

The reason I find Katie so inspiring though, is because she has shown me that this "magic" applies to so many other aspects of our struggle with this thing called life. I have too many patients who rely on the medicine to "fix" their diabetes or high blood pressure, but the truth is, THEY are the only ones who can truly change. The people who are suffering from depression have to have a plan to combat those triggers that will surely come and get ready to fight the bad days (along with the meds, I'm a big proponent of multi-layered therapy). The person who wants to better their life even though everyone tells them that it's impossible has only to prove that they can't to themselves.

We have to stop waiting for our magic pill, lottery win, or whatever else we have drawn up as our answer to the hard questions. We are the answer to the questions. We are the ones deciding how we handle the situations that leave us feeling distraught and empty. I know I don't have all the answers on how to get through the hard things, or on how to make significant changes, but another thing Katie has taught me is that by putting yourself out there and really attempting to change for the better, people come out of the wood work to support you, and others are curious about your secret because they want in on the good stuff too. And a community can come up with some pretty good tips on getting through the stumbling blocks. Community can help us be honest with ourselves and see that we are our own worst saboteurs. Community is what we have to have to function in this scary, sometimes awful world.

So clearly, there's no magic recipe, pill or anything else. Anything we want is not going to happen overnight because we have to make the necessary changes to lay a foundation that last. We just have to take it one day at a time and  make our best effort every day and have a plan to get back on track when we falter. We have to realize that we are awesome and we need to start wanting the best for ourselves. And if you are lucky enough to have a friend like mine, you'll hopefully find a way to inspire each other!

Mommy-Guilt and Less Selfish Revelations

My daily routine goes something like this: wake-up, immediately start getting ready so I can be dressed by the time two sleepy boys come down the hall, take the sleepy boys down the stairs, get breakfast started for kids, pack my lunch, feed the dog, attempt to get children dressed, leave for work, see patients all day, pick up kids, start dinner upon entering the door, play with kids, baths, stories, 30 minutes-2 hours of post-lights out attempts at inducing sleep, awaking in the children's bed, stumbling down the hall to my bed, drifting off to sleep to the sounds of my husband snoring (sorry honey!) and repeat the next 6 days.

It's easy to say that I long for days where I get a moment to myself. I daydream about the days I used to come home and check my email, flip the TV to a non-animated show and go to bed when I wanted to. So when Brad offered to take the kids to Nashville for a night a few weekends ago, I was conflicted because I felt a great sense of guilt at letting them go without me. 

I think it stems from being a working mom and knowing that weekends should be treasured. It's the mom-guilt that I'm somehow not being there enough for my boys during their waking hours. But when I look back at the last 4 1/2 years as a parent, I realize that I can still count the nights I've been away from my kids on two hands. And it wasn't like I was abandoning my children. They were going to their grandparents house with my husband, their father. Needless to say, they were not feeling the see-saw of emotions I was, they were just ecstatic to go see their beloved Mohm and Gogo (yep, those are their grandparent names)! 

I know I need to get over myself. I think back on my childhood and the great times I had with just my mom or just my dad. I remember sleep-overs at my Grandma's were the best and the over-nights at my aunts and uncles were always awesome (except for the clocks at Aunt Dorie's house...those of you who have stayed there know what I'm talking about)! And my children need to have those experiences without me. I guess part of me worries I'm going to miss something special. We've long past the days of firsts (first words, first steps, etc), but there is so much joy in seeing my kids discover and do new things. I love watching them with our family and seeing how loved they are. I hate just hearing about it. 

On the other hand, I watched all the shows I wanted to watch that night. I went to bed when I wanted and got up when I wanted. I cleaned the house and it stayed that way (until 10 minutes after the crew returned from Nashvegas). I ran errands without worrying I had to get back to relieve my husband. I got my haircut! I needed a day and night to myself, because in all honesty, I haven't had one in a very long time. 

This parenthood gig has made the whole "dying to self" thing so much clearer to me. For years, my involvement in Christian circles has touched on how we must "die to self" to truly know what God wants from us. That's easy to talk up that Christian lingo but really hard to do as a single adult without too much true responsibility. But it becomes very clear what that means when you are a parent. 

I don't do anything where my first thought isn't, "where, when, how will this affect my kids?" When I was breast-feeding, I was constantly thinking about how to keep this little creature alive, since I was providing his nourishment. This came with the inability to realize I needed a shower or a change in the clothes I had been wearing for 72 hours straight. I don't plan my own agenda without preparing a coordinating one for the rest of the family. I really don't get to think about myself first, nor do I really want to, because these other people in my life are so important to me. That's dying to self. When it's no longer about you any more, and it's all about the ones you love. That's what God wants from us. 

Can I just comment here that dying to self is exhausting, scary, and a constant struggle? I would have never thought how consuming motherhood was going to be. I would have never realized how often I would long to be in two places at once (one place that the only rule was: no children allowed, and the other rolling around on the floor playing silly games with my boys). I never realized how often I would choose to not do something for myself for the sake of my kids. I never realized how much I coveted my time and my schedule. 

Now, I'm not saying that I didn't deserve a break. God knows, and so do all you mommies, that we all need a recharge sometimes. Our littles are better served if we aren't going crazy on a daily basis. But I try to step back every once in a while and realize that my parenthood parallels God being our Holy Father/Mother/Being. He sacrifices a lot for us, lets us go off and do all the crazy things we think are getting us somewhere, and then he's there when we run through the door screaming, "Daddy, I'm home!" He doesn't take vacations away from us, and he wants nothing more from us but to drop all our outside distractions and realize the love that we have before us. On my good days, I can do that. On my bad days (which are more often than I like to admit) I try to check-out for a few minutes on my phone or with bad cable TV. 

I don't know how to stop feeling the conflict of trying to be there for everything in my family's life. But I'm trying to really make an effort to realize that God's a parent too and he doesn't want us to feel guilty for allowing our kids to have experiences without us present. In fact, I know the day will come where I won't be there for my kids every wake-up and bedtime, and thinking about that makes me sad. But I cannot let my desire to keep them innocent and little stop me from teaching them independence and self-care. I can be an example that "dying to self" doesn't mean I have to neglect myself either. Taking a break doesn't mean checking out of life at all levels.

We start as selfish beings, all-consumed with ourselves. We were not meant to continue that way throughout life, that's why a lot of us become parents. I think God knew we could never truly give ourselves over to him without having a clear example in our daily lives. Boy, did he get it right! Until this little living, breathing miracle became mine, required my love, devotion, direction, and of course, re-direction, I didn't get it. I didn't get the way God loves us, wants us to leave everything and be his. He wants to be the arms we run to for comfort. And I understand that so much clearer now. A weekend of reflection and missing my kids does wonders for the soul. This post would not have been written in the middle of our normal, chaotic days and nights. And in the end, the break was good, but the reunion was better! 

The Hills are NOT Alive...They are Icy and Impassable!

The weather predictions this week have been a great source of fodder. The main reason is the forecast has included several predictions of inches of snow and ice that have skirted to the north of us 4 out of 5 days this week. So yesterday evening, I and two of my girlfriends decided to ignore the impending weather reports and have a dinner out (to discuss planning VBS, but really it was for the dinner out!). 

 We picked a seat not very close to any windows, didn’t notice the packed store we had entered was dwindling in their patronage, and didn’t even realize the hot bar was being cleared an hour and a half early. The predictions had come true, and we were in for it!

I live the farthest from our dinner place, up two steep hills and winding roads. My three winters driving on the great white roads of Michigan did not prepare me for the elevation changes and ice that southern snow storms like to throw at you. As we started toward the first stop of three to return our dinner pals home, it became quite clear that the roads were slick and as a now minivan owner, I knew the hills of Tennessee were winning tonight! We didn’t even make it a quarter mile into my friend’s sub-division before the backsliding began. She decided to trudge through the snow in her slipper shoes, because we of course wanted to look good when we went out for dinner! And she made it home in good time. That left two of us!

As we continued back toward house #2, the probability of us making it up the necessary ridges were slim to none. And we had to really go the bathroom. So a quick stop at a relative’s further down the hill was necessary and welcome. We would hoof it the rest of the way to the house, the parking spot for my car. At this point, it was clear I wasn’t getting home. This was somewhat frustrating because all this week, I’ve been taking extra precaution to ensure that my family and I were safe in this nasty southern winter weather, but when it really came to fruition, I was the one who didn’t make it home!

So, while my boys watched Star Wars for the first time (I’m sure Bennett will be acting like a Storm Trooper for the next 6 months of his life), I was hunkering down at my girlfriend’s house. I was looking forward to a snow-day with my boys on Saturday, but that wouldn’t happen because the roads weren’t supposed to get better until around 11 or 12 that morning. I couldn’t help but feel guilty because I didn’t prepare enough, because my plans didn’t work out, because I didn’t get to see my kiddos before bedtime last night. And while the adventure of it all was fun and those two other women are the most fun to be with in a snowstorm, I still was the one left out. I didn’t make it home to see my family. Just me.

This whole incident has confirmed that I am a control freak. I like to have a plan and I like that plan to go my way. To the viewing public, I act like it’s all good and I’m so cool because I take change in stride, but on the inside there’s a little voice saying, “I’m losing it! No control=no power=what else could spin out of my grasp?” I cannot control the weather. In fact, thanks to some wise words from Grandmother, my boys have been saying, “The weatherman can’t control the weather, only God can.” And they are right. I have as much control over most things as the weatherman! I can predict ten possible outcomes (all in my favor, of course) and the end result is completely different.

My life has been full of this: my ideals and desires and plans, and God throwing a slippery road into the mix, completely changing the trajectory of my life. I see this constant tug-of-war in my desire to follow God, but also to have a 10 year plan. I want stability and foresight for my children, so I ignore the voice of faith that says, “Come and follow me” and I trudge through the slippery roads trying to follow my own path. I want my future to be clear, not to be called. I want to live with certainty, not by faith. I want to say, “I’m not equipped for this next thing, I think I won’t do it!” and God says, “I didn’t ask for an expert, I asked for you!” I wish so many of us would leave our agendas, plans, and procedures at the door and just go out on the limb of faith a little more. I wish it for myself, I wish it for my church, I wish it for my friends and family. We have been convinced that we can drive on our slippery plans and make it to our destination without any problems. We don’t consider the blessing it could be to stop and rest and wait for the road to clear, to take comfort in the home of friend, or our Savior and allow our plans and power to be turned over to him.

We saw a car do donuts off the highway last night, I wonder how often God watches me spin in circles? I just don’t get why he keeps me on any path, really! I like to do my own thing so often, if I were the parent, I’d be crazy. That’s why God’s God, and I am not! So, instead of just taking it upon myself to tackle the hazardous road conditions of life on my own, I think I’m going to climb into the passenger seat a while, put the trust in the fact that God has navigated me to places that were filled with more blessings than I could have ever imagined on my own, and stop being so concerned about getting home, and just realize that adventure and the journey are part of it too!

Weariness Is Not The Stopping Point

My favorite Bible verse since high school has been Galatians 6:9. It says “Let us not grow weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” These words sound wonderful, but they also hold deep, deep meaning. I’ve grown weary in doing good, trying to be good, trying to live a life that others can look at and say, she’s doing the work of Christ., because it’s hard and tiring. Other people do not always appreciate the good you are doing and it’s defeating. I am a physician assistant and I see poor, needy, and uninsured patients daily. I have long discussions about how to take care of the body you were given. I try to empathize with my patients social issues and to truly understand their barriers to care. There are still days where a patient will say, “Can’t you just admit me? They take such good care of me at the hospital!” The thought crosses my mind, “That’s what I was trying to do!” Doing good isn’t always recognized, actually, a lot of the time it goes unrecognized, but we are not to grow weary!

Being a mother is another one of those thankless jobs. It’s amazing how fast a loving child can turn into a fire-spitter! We have loved, taught, cared for, wiped, cleaned this child and there is no instant repayment for all this investment. In fact, it seems that the more good I try to instill in my little ones some days just ends up with a lot of crying, both on their part and mine! I can only hope, since my children are still small, that their father and I will reap a harvest for the conversations and loving embraces at some point. Nevertheless, every day there are new challenges to parenting and I have to be reminded to not give up. And therein lies the hardness of this verse. We aren’t supposed to stop doing good. Even though the world seems to reject our good deeds, even though our loved ones don’t even say a thank you, even though no one seems to want to do any good unto us, we are not to give up.

Sometimes I let the weariness drive the thought of quitting. It’s easier to just throw in the proverbial towel than to keep up an effort of caring and loving others. But I think the part that has to be clear, the part that has to be tattooed into my memory is the harvest we will reap. The harvest is why we do what we do. It’s that patient that sends a card saying, “Thank you for caring about me!” It’s the day when your child is surrounded by others and they say the most heartfelt prayer and you know they can pray that way because you have been their example. It’s the family member that only calls you because they know you are always there to care and have put up with them through the hard times. The harvest can be a great joy in seeing someone else’s happiness restored or even their faith restored because you didn’t give up.

We can easily make doing things into doing good in our own minds, and it’s important that we are aware of this. Being a yes-man or -woman is not doing good, and boundaries are needed so that our souls stay full. But we are not going to reap anything by ignoring injustices, shutting ourselves from others who are not “in” our circles, or by becoming so intertwined in our own selves that we miss the beauty around us either. Weariness is easy to attain. I can overbook myself in a heartbeat, overcommit in a flash. When he wrote Galatians, Paul knew that interacting with the human race was not a self-serving reward and there are some people out there that can draw the breath right out of you, just by being in the same room as them. However, Paul also knew that God’s kingdom cannot operate by the Holy Spirit alone, and those hard to love people, probably need love the most. So he warns us to not grow weary. Not an easy task! 

It’s so hard when you are weary to look ahead, to “keep the eyes on the prize,” so to speak. But that’s sometimes the only way to get through the pull to give up, to throw in the towel, to stop the goodness. We can’t stop because this world needs the good, we need the good, and we are promised a sweet reward. Maybe we don’t get the chance for the reward until Heaven, but I think if we are focused on doing good, the reward shows up on this side of eternity. Sometimes it is years later, sometimes it’s subtle and sometimes we just have to wait for it. Know the path we trudge is a worthy one, and take the opportunity for goodness to abound, because we know this world is weary and needs some of us to be the doers of good!  

The Sacred Space

The space always felt warm to me, like a good hug, a safe place. It was somewhere that I was able to retreat from the world that was so harsh, so demanding, so overwhelming, sometimes. During weeks when my friends had deemed me unworthy to play with at recess, or when I was feeling like I hadn't lived up to my own expectations, there was a place where those marred areas of life faded. Welcomed always. Judge little. This was my sanctuary. It was the small little Methodist church in the small little sleepy town where I grew up.

I always felt accepted in that building. I'm sure it was the community who made that acceptance real, but even as I sat alone in the sanctuary, I was wrapped in unconditional love. When I left for college, I tried very hard to find or even recreate that space again...to no avail. There were still too many holes in the space I was trying to will into the sacred sanctuary. These holes let the craziness of the "real" world into the space. There was not the safety I had felt as a young child, an awkward middle-schooler and a pre-college overachiever.  It was then that I was made very aware that my sanctuary was rare.

It was rare because it was actually a sanctuary in a church building. For so many, the church sanctuaries are cold, lonely places that are dangerous and judgmental. There is no love emitted from those spaces. They symbolize places filled with hypocrisy where love is touted but one feels the undercurrent of hate toward them. I know this is how some feel in church. I have sat in the back of churches and watched as a new person who isn't as wealthy or clean or the same color as everyone else wanders in and tries to find a place of rest among the unspoken assigned seats. I have watched as members lean over and size up this new arrival to each other. And I have wondered, what if I was that brave person who wandered into a church by myself, just hoping to find love, acceptance, and rest and was met with awkward stares, under-the-breath exchanges, and a seat that "belongs" to someone else?

The answer is I have never been that person. I have always had a church to call home. But God's been placing a really strong message on my heart, and it is this: "You have walked into a church and felt my love with no one else around, when you walk into a church and it is filled with my children, this should be a glimpse of my kingdom!" A little Heaven on Earth, if you will. It may sound cliche, but church wasn't meant to be about me, it was suppose to be a place where we learned and confessed and questioned what this kingdom that was the opposite of worldly standards was and is about. Are we doing it church? Are we just showing up in our Sunday best while the world waits to see whether we can keep up the act?

I think about this a lot as I help plan programs and am in church leadership. It surrounds my own life because my husband leads a church. It's his job. And we talk about it constantly. The church, for me, has been true to the verse, "Come to me, all who are heavy burdened, and I will give you rest." But I cannot be happy that I get the warm fuzzy feeling in the church building. I cannot take rest in the fact that church is a sacred space for me while there are so many others who need the church to be that for them and it isn't.

I'm talking about the divorced wife who is reeling from the shot to the heart of losing a marriage, and has not only felt abandon by her husband but also shamed by her church friends because she somehow didn't uphold scripture and keep the marriage alive. I'm talking about all the gay teenagers who are living the tightrope of just trying to survive in a high school setting and also have to wonder if they will be accepted by their parents (Oh Lord! I can't even imagine their struggle and their bravery to be who they are). I think about these babies, these Children of God, because high school is hard, even when you have friends who accept you and parents who would die for you. I think about my black friends who are searching for a church and need to hear from us (I'm speaking about the White Church here) that this world still isn't right, we still have a lot of reconciling to do. And then I think about the church. Is our church a sanctuary for all who are heavy burdened?

I believe the answer is no. I want the answer to be yes. I want someone to walk into a church a feel God's kingdom on this very Earth. So how does this happen? Well first, it doesn't take another committee meeting. It takes people who are willing to show that they are a little messy too. It takes people who study God's word for themselves instead of just taking someone else's word on the matter. It takes a willingness to go to places that don't feel happy or secure or holy to us long-time church-goers (i.e. leaving the church walls). It takes someone being brave enough to extend an invitation. It takes someone taking the time to have a conversation with a person who has never appeared in our pews before. But ultimately all those things are for naught if there isn't a partnership between us and God. We have to be actively seeking God's heart and His urging are what's prompting those things to happen.

As I have shared more on this blog than I usually do in person, I've been so surprised by the outpouring of love I have received back. I think it's because when I've thrown out my raw places, the places I struggle, it gives someone else permission to see that they are not alone in a similar situation. When I am real and honest, someone else resonates with that.

So, I sit here tapping words on a keyboard, struggling to figure out how I create a church where everyone who walks in the tastes and feels the love of Christ emanating from every corner. Then I realize if I would stop being so quick to try make someone else feel exactly how I feel and truly live out a life that Christ is a deep part of, I may already have my answer. What I can be is welcoming, honest, and incredibly generous. I can always err on the side of love and ask forgiveness when I do something that doesn't do the above. But maybe most importantly, I think Home Depot has it right, "stop thinking about it (or writing about it) and start doing it!"

If you're in Chattanooga this Sunday and think you may need to hear a good word, come by the little church next to the veterinarian's office on Ashland Terrace. I cannot guarantee that it will feel like your sacred space, but I can guarantee you there are some wonderful, welcoming people who have hearts in the right places and have lived out Christ's love for more years than I have been on this planet. We are imperfect and we are working on our understanding of Christ and his teachings, but we are trying and you are welcome! 

On Parenthood, Motherhood, and Gratitude

Yesterday afternoon, I crawled up on my couch after work and while the kids were still at daycare to watch the season finale of Parenthood. Let's be honest, I haven't been able to stay up until 11pm on a Thursday night in quite some time, so this Friday afternoon watchfest has become a sort of ritual. This show is one of my favorites, mainly because of its honest depiction of life. That, plus the fact that Craig T. Nelson has reminded me of my dad since starred on the show Coach, and this show pretty much had me from the get-go.

As I watched the story play out yesterday, I honed in on the Julia and Joel storyline. I feel a kindred connection to Julia's character (minus the part about cheating on my husband). She was portrayed as a go-getter, a woman who always was after success. Stanford degree, high-powered law firm, she was me. When she lost her job on the show, it sent me into long, contemplative thoughts about what we would do if I couldn't work, how that would change me as person. It revealed how much I value my title and the work I put into getting a P.A. degree. It made me think about how much pride I take when a paycheck goes into the bank with my name on it. Yes, a tv show had the ability to really make me think.

As I watched the finale as Joel and Julia decide to adopt Victor's little sister, something clicked in my head. Sometimes the best things in life are unplanned. If you know me at all, you know I like plans. 5 year plans, plans for next weekend, life goals, plans for potential economic downturns. You get the picture. I think Julia was a planner too, but here she was just throwing caution to the wind, I mean, a new baby, and like she said, they didn't even have room in the house (which Joel so cutely dispels because he can just build one). But what really got me was the scene when they fast forward and the FOUR children are opening up a puppy on Christmas morning. I don't know why that hit me so hard, but FOUR kids! Maybe it's because Brad and I have been spending a lot of time talking about how two kids might be enough for us, but I'm still not sure. Or maybe it is because it showed that plans are certainly not fool-proof and joy can be in the unexpected. Maybe it's because this show reminds me of my mom's family and how close they are and how there are just so many kids around and there is so much love in just being family. Or maybe it's all of the above.

I, like probably everyone in America that watches this show, audibly sobbed as Zeke asked Sarah if he was a good dad. Floods of childhood memories came flooding back into my head. The scene from my wedding day played as I asked my dad if he was ready to give me away and his response was, "No, but let's do this!" It made me want to hold my boys right now in this moment and smell their hair and listen to their laughter and capture their innocence for another day. It makes me think about my life and what the answer to the question, "Am I a good mother?" is. I mean, I just don't get this emotional watching the Housewives of New Jersey! Camille and Zeke's relationship reminds me of my parents. Both of them being so much about their kids and then having to face some pretty big changes in their empty nest years.

The parallels are enormous. And I know that I'm not alone. The struggles every Braverman family went through week after week are our struggles. They told our stories. And therein lies the greatness of this show. Therein lies why I will miss crying every Friday afternoon.  I got to see my life mirrored back to me. I got to glimpse the special-ness of the ordinary in my own family. It left me with gratitude.

It left me grateful for struggles that I share with a family that loves me. It left me with gratitude that I have these incredibly amazing boys that I get to love and teach and, some days, lose my mind with for the rest of my life. It left me with more appreciation for the now, the unplanned, and the surprises. I'm sad that this show ended, but I think it's appropriate, because it felt too short, it felt like there was so much more we could learn together, but then doesn't life feel the same way? Don't we take for granted what we have, thinking there will always be time for this or that? I am filled with gratitude that, with all the mundane, mindless media out there, this show was able to have meaning for me beyond the screen. I will mourn the loss for a couple more days, but I will take with me the lessons the show has taught me about myself, and I am inspired because it has shown me that showing the real side of life, like I strive to on this blog, can mean so much to so many!

Tired of being tired

Noises wake me up, a car engine running too long outside my window (aka looters about to break into my house...<begin creating escape plans while half asleep>) will force me out of bed to investigate, and just all the thoughts that go through my head in a day seem to resurface in those precious hours of rest. I am a light sleeper and I have been this way for my whole life. What I didn't realize was that becoming a mother would add a whole new dimension to this lack of sleep.

Let me be honest, I am not a woman who loves every second of being pregnant. I'm going to tell you I appreciated the miracle God has given women in the fact that from a few cells, an ENTIRE human is made. What I didn't appreciate was the uncomfortable positions this little person could push their way into the smallest recesses of my midsection. I also didn't appreciate that I could no longer sleep on my belly, which I had been doing for the 28 previous years.  This was stage one of feeling tired ALL the time!

Then the baby arrives and as Amy Poehler so honestly puts it in her book Yes Please!, "you so afraid that they are going to die that you stay up and jump up at any slight noise." Add to that that I breast fed, and had to do that every two hours, while it takes me a good 45 minutes to return to sleep, and you do the math. I've been sleep deprived since 2010!

I thought when my kids slept through the night this would change. I would go back to feeling not tired, but that's not true. I think I remember reading studies during those blurry first years of mommyhood about sleep deprivation and how it just keeps banking up and you have to have days where you play catch up. Apparently I never slept when the baby slept because (1.) I did want some laundry clean and (2.) I went back to work.  My children have seemed to recover nicely from their erratic sleep and yes, they sleep through the night, but they are non-stop during the day.

What was also never stated in the books is that you don't get to choose your own bedtime. My children choose my bedtime. We have a set schedule, every night starting at 8pm, but my children are masterminds of prolonging the inevitable. Last night, Brad started the routine which usually means that he puts them to bed in their room, but at 10pm they were both laying in bed with me while Brad snoozed in their bedroom. We play musical beds nightly, and apparently I'm just a participant, I don't run the game!

Gone are the days when I would come home from work and peruse the internet for a little while and then flip over to an evening show or two before deciding I was tired and needed to go to bed. My nights are now filled with laughter, fighting, at least one sword fight a night (we don't even need a sword in the house, this still happens). I love our nights and really try to appreciate these little years, but honestly, I miss those days every so often where I wasn't responsible for another wonderful little person.

Most nights end with my little one talking his non-sensical, stream-of-conscience babble while I drift slowly into an uncomfortable sleep. Inevitably I wake up 2 hours later in some weird contortion between 2 children and feel like I had a great nap! This is when I can't get back to sleep and I usually watch all of the Bravo TV shows I can't watch while my kids are awake. Of course, I do get tired at some point, usually around an hour or two before I have  to be awake. Then I spend 30 minutes thinking about how little time I have to fall asleep and get any semblance of a decent night's sleep.

Some of my sweet friends with grown children have told me it will only be 18 years of this sleep deprivation! I would like to say, "Please do not say this to my slightly on the fritz mind as it is already sleep deprived and really could snap in seconds!" I start thinking about those days so far ahead, but then I feel guilty for wishing these exhausting years away. So what is the answer? I'm not really sure. I feel good when I'm rested but that doesn't happen all that often. I want to be a person that can live in the moment without wishing it away, which is hard to do when all I really want to do is sit on the couch and perhaps take a snooze.

I'm becoming more creative. I now know that I can lay on the couch and turn a video on and get a twenty minute nap in every once in a while. I still wake up to little bodies using me as their target as they cannonball off the upper portion of the couch. There are times I try to go to bed early on the nights it is not my turn to put the kids to bed, but there always is another "I love you" that needs to be said or a hug that needs to be given, which I don't mind at all. I have relinquished that fact that I will not feel well-rested in any month in the new year. And maybe that's where I need to redirect my thoughts and realize that it's my problem and not my kids' problem. I don't have to be with my children every waking moment that I'm not working. I am trying to encourage independent, non-reckless play and I say lots of prayers that these two things will happen. I need to ask for some time for myself, because there will never be time if I always put everyone else's needs first. I can't keep making judgements about myself based on this mommy group I've created in my head who watches everything I do and sneers at how I'm raising my kids.

I need to take a shot at a nap when available and trust that I will not wake up with markers on the walls or a new make-over via my boys. Or I just embrace it if that happens, that's why we buy washable markers (or I'll trudge on over to Pinterest for a solution). With all that said, I'm not sure I'm going to ever be well-rested, but I do know that I'm going try to be better about taking care of myself. I'm even thinking about starting a business called MWNN-"Moms Who Need Naps" and all the employees get 2 short naps a day, required. I'm pretty sure I'd pay good money for that! Who's in?

REJECTED!!!

                                           (Elizabeth Williams from my alma mater showing how it's done!)
Getting rejected is never fun. I realize that it shouldn’t affect me and I shouldn’t get as upset about it at this point in my life. I remember several of my high school crushes not returning the admiration I had for them…rejection. I remember getting told I wasn’t going to be in the sorority I had preffed…rejection. I also remember a few weeks ago when I submitted an article to a magazine and they said, “Thank you. But this won’t work for us right now. “ Rejection. So as you can see, being rejected in lots of different ways has left lasting stings along the way. I don’t think anyone is particularly thrilled with hearing, “You didn’t do enough” or “You aren't the right one.” These times in our life really drill in deep and they can be a crossroads, of sorts.

Regjections stick out like sore thumbs to me, because in all honesty, I have been accepted in many instances for most of my life. I had good friends in childhood and my teen years. I got into the college of my dreams. I was accepted into a sorority and while I thought I wasn’t going to enjoy it, I made friends that I still cherish today. I’ve been picked for sports teams. And I also didn’t get rejected by the one guy that mattered. Even typing this right now, I think, “Why are you complaining?” But the truth is, it doesn’t matter what form it comes in, rejection hurts.

I know as a parent I will have to deal with my kids facing rejection. My boys are pretty awesome, but I know that there will be a day that they want something so badly and it will slip through their fingers, or there will be a sport they are convinced they are great at and the coach doesn’t agree. It will happen. My heart already breaks because I’ve seen how sometimes these crushing blows knock people right off the trajectory they had aligned themselves on. My hope is that my sons have the ability and the perspective to realize that sometimes the trajectory needed to change.

When I think about life, of course I wish that I could skip the pain. I hate it. I hate feeling out of control (control and me are like BFFs). I hate not being able to just get over the feeling of losing out, of not making it. It’s like we are never suppose to feel the burn of rejection or mourn the loss of a dream. I just think that’s ridiculous! If you had a hope (and we are told constantly to "Aim for the stars"), and it doesn’t come to fruition and you’ve poured blood, sweat, and tears into it, then it hurts when it doesn’t happen. It is probably more devastating if it is a relationship or a life goal. We are given little room for the grieving process.

As I've mentioned before my BFF "Control" and I have this thing called a plan. A 5 year plan, a 20 year plan, a remodeling plan, you name it, I've got a plan for it! So when that planned trajectory is clear in my mind, and something happens to the flight path, I come a little unglued. I think this is where God is definitely pushing me this year, because if I think I am going on this trip of life and I am going to just stay in my comfort zone and have all my hopes and dreams come true just the way I have planned, that doesn't really isn't realistic.  But getting knocked out my comfort zone and off of the planned path is no less disappointing and is no less turbulent.  We don’t give the same grace to emotional turbulence as we do to the physical, even though I would argue emotional turbulence can be ten times worse. I think this is true for me mainly because I cannot separate my thoughts from myself. I can ruminate on that rejection every night for a long, long time. I have imaginary conversations in my head:

“Brain, please think about nice things, not the awful stuff that I’ve already lived with all day!”

“Lisa, that is next to impossible because this is ALL you’ve thought about ALL day!”

“Okay, well I’m going to pray about what I’m thankful for then and that will do it…Lord, thank you for my family. Thanks for my job, and my home, but Lord could you please take away this awful pit in my stomach every time I think about that rejection…DANGGIT!”

And begin the conversation with the brain again.

It’s so hard. We are so intertwined with our wants, desires, hopes, dreams, thankfulness,and  hurt. It’s really hard to separate all of it. If you are anything like me, you have this invisible audience of the world watching your every move, enjoying seeing you fail, ready to laugh and shout an “I told you so!” Maybe there are a few of those out there, but in reality I have a lot more supporters than I do audience members. And when I really think about it, the people that matter are there for me no matter what. I just so easily lose sight of this that so many days are harder than they probably need to be.

I’ve been fortunate in this life to be able to reflect on those rejections (since I still like to carry them around with me). I see that they may have made up a broken road, but it lead to many good things. And I have to remember that sometimes I have to accept the sidetrack to really put a fire back in my belly, or maybe the rejection is a chance to sort out what really is important in life. I know that writing, and for an audience greater than what I currently reach, is hard. There are lots of voices out there making noise and I have to be clear in what I’m saying or it just drowns in with the hum. This last submission rejection just means I have to study my material better. It means I have to write, write, and write some more. I know that a lot of people have gone years on end with hearing, “No, you're not what we are looking for,” and then when they figure out their niche, it clicks.

What I leave you with is this: we are all in this together. You with your rejection and me with mine. We don’t need to fix the rejection, we can all just sit here with it together and figure out our next moves. Maybe we can even motivate ourselves to try again, especially if it’s something we really want. I see these rejections as an opportunity to realize that this life is not going to be perfect and if I want something, I have to work for it, or let it go, or realize it is not right for me at this time in my life. What I cannot do is let it overcome me. I cannot let it define every day, every moment of my significance. Because the truth is, there are opportunities all around and if I’m not paying attention, the path that is started by a rejection may be one that was better than the planned path. And those might be the ones that could be the biggest life-changers of them all! 

New Year's Revolution

I remember setting up an elaborate seating arrangement that included a large wooden desk chair, a booster seat and some pillows. I faced it out my large bedroom window. Mind you, this was at the tender age of 4 or 5. It was from this makeshift throne that I started a conversation with God. It's interesting looking back how I just sensed this God that I heard about in Sunday School and that my Grandmother would talk about with us as she babysat my sister and I. I didn't have any concept of the ride I would take with the Divine at that young age, and of course how could I? The world really hadn't had a chance to rear it's ugly, dark head.

As I grew up, I went to church camp, became a believer (looking back, I wonder if my moment was really in that chair at the window), and starting living my life for Christ. That's something that may not come too hard for a older elementary student, but the burden seemed placed on me as now I was suppose to share this faith. I'm not a person who has ever felt like I needed to push my beliefs on others and now I feel that it's imperative that I do not push anyone into believing. But somewhere in the early stages of my faith journey, that was what I was told needed to happen. I really didn't have a great story that I felt was profound in any way. Most of my friends had some connection to church and my family was all pretty religious. I didn't really want to be responsible for converting anybody.

Then I grew up and moved away. I realized that my idyllic little Christian bubble was not going to work for the greater world who had been hurt by Bible-beaters, people who used their faith to wield power, and then there were the intellectuals who knew more Bible verses than I did, and had a counterpoint to everything I held as true. Funny, but while all this discontent raged in my mind, my heart and soul remembered those conversations between God and a 4-year-old girl. And then I met other people struggling and wondering about how faith belonged in a world where people would rather choose a side than find a middle ground. Maybe the best thing anyone has ever said to me was that while I was struggling with this burden of converting people, I had forgotten that the world already had a Savior. It wasn't my job to prove anything to them, instead it was my job to show them that a living God lived in me, and His preferred method of life is through love.

This has spurred a revolution to my old way of approaching this world. I no longer feel that I have show people the sin in their life and force a conversion (whew! I'm glad God resolved that idea, because I was freaked out by it!), and instead, I am only called to go to the ends of the earth and show love. That means I take part in the struggles of this world. I stand up for those that don't have a voice: the poor, the communities that are being discriminated against because of their skin color or their sexual orientation, women who are downtrodden by manipulation of their families or partners, and children who do not have access to the things that my kids take for granted.

I hope I cannot be grouped into a category because I'm for everyone in this life, I'm for God's love being shown to anyone who needs it. Liberal, conservative, alcoholic, perfectionist, we all know tragedy, we all know hardships. I cannot live like I'm in this life for myself, because if I take Jesus' words as truth, that I have to go out and make disciples, then I have to leave my usual haunts and step into places that God doesn't show up too often. Does that petrify me? Yup! Then I realize that God's asking me to trust in Him, that's where the "Do Not Fear" stuff comes in. On my own, I'm toast. But through God all things are possible. I've seen that more as I put trust in this invisible One who each day brings a new dawn. He who has given me perspective during a very trying year. He who allows me to travel to places that others pass by because of fear. And I am so grateful because the thing about God's love is that when I trust that He loves everyone just as much as He loves me, I see that love too. It's a comfort and it's addictive. I can no longer be all about me doing God's work because God is already there.

So this year, I'm not making any resolutions, because I tend to not keep those very long. This year I'm committing to this silent revolution, the "Irresistible Revolution" as Shane Claiborne calls it. One that shows God's love is bigger than politics, or individual nations, and most certainly, it's bigger than me. Life may throw a few thousand curveballs my way, and loving people who do a crappy job of loving me or even liking me stinks, but I'm ready, because I trust that love conquers all. And even if I'm wrong, I'm willing to err on the side of love every time.