Being The Grown-Up In The Room

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Blogging, Inspiration, Life, Relationships, Truth

I read this excellent post on Jen Hatmaker’s Facbook page yesterday. She talked about looking for the grown-up in the room, i.e. the person not arguing, not using childish banter to go on the attack, the person others look to because they’re talking sense.

Sometimes you have to be that person. Sometimes you have to be the grown-up.

And that, my friends, is no easy task. Let’s think about it. How many times over the last few months have you felt shut down because what you wanted to say fell on deaf ears? How many times have you tried to use your voice for good and had it turned and twisted until your original thoughts looked nothing like the words being thrown back at you? How many times have you lost it, and not been the grown-up?

Yeah. Me too.

The things we are experiencing as a culture, in the United States and around the world, are unprecedented. I’ve never witnessed so much hostility, sometimes downright hatefulness, and vitriol on social media, ever, and I’ve been on it since forever. It is shocking and sad that our interactions have ceased to be pleasant. I know friends that have quit altogether. And honest? I miss their voices. Because they had something important to say, but nobody wanted to hear it. And so, rather than continuing to shout into the wind, they retreated.

I’ve kind of done the same. I go back and forth on the Facebook thing. But honestly, I love it for what it used to be. I love it for the interactions with good friends and family, and the writing groups I belong to. So now when I interact, I’m looking for the grown-ups. Looking for folks who are having open-minded discussions about current events without the entire thing turning nuclear. Because I think it’s important that we keep talking about these things, even if it’s hard. Even if it hurts. But we need to get to place of understanding. And I’m trying to be the grown-up too, and not post every thing that’s on my mind. Which again, is not easy, because sometimes . . . oh I’m tempted to let my inner-child come out to play.

Sometimes being the grown-up means taking a stand.

I believe it does. I believe we need to keep speaking out against those things that are wrong. I believe if we are truly convicted about something, we must speak out. To say nothing would be to silence our own voice. Which is what those who disagree so vehemently want. They don’t want to hear the truth. When two sides are in heated argument, neither side believes the other might have a point, and nobody wins. And yet, I think to stick one’s head in the sand and wait for the madness to pass is probably just as bad. Because it won’t. If anything, it’s going to get worse. I’d love to see more honest and open discussions about the things that are happening instead of the flame-throwing.

Being the grown-up means being in control. 

I remember those days when my kids would go off into full-blown temper tantrums. And wasn’t it tempting to grab their little shoulders and get right up in their face and shout right back? Oh, yeah. But what would that have accomplished? Nothing but an even longer, louder and most certainly angrier tantrum. And I’d probably go to bed early with a whopping headache. No. Sometimes you just have to wait it out. If you can’t be heard, walk away. Be the grown-up. And if you’re not being heard yet you still feel the need to speak, think very carefully about the words you post. This is especially difficult in the heat of the moment. So maybe come back to that topic later. When you don’t want to toss a chair through a window.

Don’t give up.

As with any great paradigm shift where it suddenly feels as though the entire world is off-kilter and there’s a vast majority that simply don’t see it, it’s tempting to give up. Tempting to go off and find a little hobbit hole someplace and just stay there. At least for the next four years. But don’t give up. Because for all the crazy, there’s still good happening. You just have to look a little harder. And sometimes you can be that good thing that happened to somebody today. You can encourage, smile, love, share your humor and your fancy self and just be that good thing this old world so desperately needs.

We’re all tired. 

Enough said. So let’s find something fun to do. I’m embarking on a month of personal challenge. I’m shutting out the noise, taking back control of what I eat and drink, exercising more, and I’m hoping to find some more inner peace in the process. I’ve also given myself that 30 days in which to complete this manuscript I’m working on. I’m being the grown-up. I’m making the rules. And I think I’ll be a whole lot happier at the end of it, whether I’ve achieved those goals or not. Because I tried. And really, that’s all any of us can do.

Are you working for change in your life and your community? Are you trying to be the grown-up? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

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Will It Really Change Us?

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Christianity, Inspiration, Life, Reflections, Relationships, Truth

There’s a calm over the ocean this morning. A certain stillness. An anticipatory hum seems to fill the air on this second day of a brand new year, and it asks the question, “What will you do with this gift?”

We’ve closed the door on 2016. Some of us have slammed it shut and bolted the locks. Some of us wish to set fire to the thing and never think on it again. And some of us simply waved and watched twelve months fade into memory, not really fussed either way. Stuff happens. 

Yes, it does. But I think 2016 will be a year for the history books. I think it has to be a year we don’t soon forget. Because it was a year that pulled back the curtain on our true selves. A year that revealed a few things about our hearts and souls and minds that could well have been left undisturbed. But disturbed we were. Agitated. Angered. Confused. Prone to outburst on social media, fingers flying over keys with words we can’t take back. Words we could have, perhaps should have, kept to ourselves.

2016 was the game changer.

Don’t believe me? Think about it. Think about all the events that occurred that touched you, moved you, stirred something deep within you – I’m not just talking about the election. There were many, many events last year that challenged us, challenged our way of thinking, caused us to re-evaluate the way we see ourselves and others.

Will it really change us? 

The more fitting question might be this –

Are we willing to change? 

Can we keep the pages of 2016 open a little longer and learn from them? Can we remember certain incidents, days, moments where we discovered something about ourselves, something that made us uncomfortable, something we didn’t want to face, didn’t realize we held onto with such a vise grip? Can we give ourselves a little time to process, and to accept that maybe everything is not as cut and dry as we once believed it to be? Can we extend a little grace, not only to ourselves, but to others? Maybe, if we put our minds to it, we can move down the pew a little and make room for someone else.

Are we willing to change? Because we have to answer that and answer it now. It’s too easy to shut the door and forget. It’ll all work out in the end. Well. It might. But what if this was our chance to work for the greater good, for the higher purpose, and we missed it? What if those hard things we went through in 2016 were set up on a shelf in a tidy box, maybe even tied up with a pretty ribbon, because . . . we came through it okay, didn’t we?

Did we? I don’t know. I don’t think so. I think we still have a long way to go.

There is work to be done. Much work. And it will be hard. Not one of us is excused from this. Because we have to move forward, move on, together. Without anger. Without malice. Without all the many differences that separate and divide us. We will all be called to this challenge, we already have been. Like it or not, we are accountable.

Will you accept the weight of that? Will I?

2016 may have kicked us in the gut more than once. But it’s time to get back up. Time to do better. To be better. Kinder. Gentler. Laugh more and love harder. 2017 could be the best year yet. We don’t know anything for certain, do we? Tomorrow is not promised. But today is here.

Brand new. All yours.

What will you do with it?

Get Back Up ~ Dedicated To My Friend Sandie

Tags

Life, Loss, Perseverance, Truth

You should know, I am a die-hard GWTW fan. I’ve lost track now exactly how many times I’ve watched the movie. But I have read the book only once. I’m thinking I need to rectify that.

The GWTW experience for me began as a lonely and homesick thirteen-year old wandering the musty maze of books housed in the library at my boarding school in the south of England. It was there I was introduced to Austin and Dickens and Tolkien, and eventually stumbled upon what had to be the biggest book my hands had ever held. Gone With The Wind.

As I approached our librarian, a fussy little man whose name escapes me, I felt as though I’d discovered the Holy Grail. He was not as impressed. “Are you sure?”

I remember those words today as though they were just uttered. The insinuation behind them still smarts. I was too young. The book was long. I would never get through it, let alone understand it.

But I did. I read it cover to cover, every spare moment I had, and devoured every word. And Scarlett O’Hara was forever emblazoned in my heart as Margaret Mitchell was in my head, and I knew then, though perhaps I didn’t quite realize it, what I wanted to be when I grew up.

Someone who never gives up.

Say what you will about Scarlett, Melanie fans, but you’ve got to give her this. She’s tenacious to a fault, yet she always gets what she wants. Well, perhaps not always. She didn’t end up with Ashley or Rhett, although I do take some license with the ending and envision her eventually reuniting with Rhett once she has finally grown into the woman he always knew she could be. But through every hardship and set back, she got back up.

And oh, that’s hard. Ask me how I know.

It’s hard because so much is unknown. Once you’ve failed, what else is there? Once you’ve lost your dream, had it even and watched it slip away, perhaps through no fault of your own, do you keep trying? Can you?

Some days my answer is no. No, I can’t and I don’t want to. Because it’s too hard. And honestly, sometimes it seems pointless. How many times, Lord? How many times?

As many as it takes. 

That’s it. That’s the answer I keep hearing again and again, every time life takes an unexpected turn. Every time I want to give it all up because I’ve convinced myself I can’t go any further.

I’ve had a hard month. I lost a lovely friend a few weeks ago. Her death was unexpected and blindsided the writing community she was so much a part of.

My friend Sandie Bricker knew all about getting back up. She did it time and time again and held out a hand to lift others up right along with her. She was full of fun and light and laughter and loved harder than most. She was a true champion and she loved Jesus. Those of us who knew and loved her take comfort in knowing that. But the loss is real. And hard. And we will need time.

As I pondered some things yesterday, this feeling of not knowing what’s next and how it can too easily incapacitate me, I received three very clear messages. Two were from friends who really didn’t have a clue what I’ve been thinking these past weeks, how helpless I’ve been feeling, yet their words reminded me again that God is in control, just as He always has been. And last night, as I was scrolling through the long message thread between Sandie and I that started in 2011, I found this word from my friend.

“It won’t help right now. But later when you look back on this conversation and how you’re feeling, you’ll think I’m a genius. Ready for it? … God has a plan for you. You don’t need to figure it out or know the details. All you need to do is put your gift to work for him, throw it at the wall and let him figure out which one will stick.”

Oh. Okay then. I’ll be honest, I’m still wiping tears when I read her words.

But. Wow.

How I needed that yesterday. How I need this today. And everyday. Because life. Life is just hard sometimes. And I will fall. I will fail and I will wallow. And each day that happens, I will need to find the strength to get back up. I don’t have it. But He does.

And thank God. Thank God for that. Thank God for His strength and His grace and His love. Thank God for friends like Sandie. Friends who don’t let you stay down, friends who insist you get back up even if they have to kick your butt to get you to move. I am so blessed to have friends like that in my life. I was blessed to have her.

And today I think of you, my friends who don’t let me stay down. I thank you. I need you.

We’re in this together.

 

Things I’m Learning From The US Election

Tags

election, Life, Reflections, Relationships, Truth

I’ve been unable to write the past few days. Unable to trust that I’d use my words wisely. And I don’t know for sure I can do that today. Don’t know for sure I’ll hit that publish button when I’m done. But I do know I need to write the words down. Because that’s what writers do.

We bleed a little on the paper.

And sometimes it makes us feel better.

A disclaimer: I’m not a US citizen and I don’t live in your country. But many of my dear friends and family do. I interact with most of you on a daily basis, I love you and I write for you. Whether that gives me a right to a voice in all of this, I don’t know.

But I have thoughts anyway.

I won’t sit here and pretend I wasn’t dismayed by the results of the election. I won’t say I understand why people voted the way they did. But I will say that over the course of the last few days, I’ve realized I need to. I need to understand why this happened so that I can accept it and be a part of the solution to healing. So I’ve been reading a lot from both sides. Watching interactions on social media and trying to make some sense of it all. And here’s what I’m learning –

Things are not always as they seem. 

Take a look at my picture. Tell me what you see. No, wait. I’ll tell you.

You see a white woman with her dog, and you may assume some things. You may assume I’m probably a product of some privilege. That I have led a sheltered life, been given the best and lack for little. You wouldn’t be wrong.

But here’s what you may not know. You may not know that while I was taken home from the hospital by two loving parents who gave me every good thing they had, I was left at that hospital by the woman who gave birth to me.

I was considered an unfortunate mistake, put aside to meet an unknown fate while she went on with her life.

“Ah, that’s a shame,” you say, “but, you had a great upbringing, wonderful parents, it all turned out all right in the end!” Yes, it did. But if you dismiss the way my life began and the impact that initial abandonment had on me, you take away my story. 

When you look at my picture, you may also assume I know nothing about racism or hatred or bigotry. That I’ve never been made to feel inferior because of the color of my skin, never been put down or made fun of or been the target of hateful comments. You’d be wrong.

While the circumstances don’t matter so much, the fact is, yes, I know what those things feel like. And in spite of that, I know I’m not immune to judging someone unfairly, for growing weary of what I often perceive as ignorance, for not taking the time to hear somebody’s opinion because it contradicts my own. And each time I do this, I take away their story.

You may think I’m a successful, published author living out her dream. Not everyone gets to this place and I’m one of the lucky ones. And you’d be right. But what you may not know is that I battle fear on an almost daily basis. Fear of failure, of not meeting expectations. I battle insecurity. I take what little self-confidence I have when I wake up in the morning and shred it to bits by the end of the day.

“But oh,” you say, “aren’t you a woman of faith, don’t you put your trust in God and believe He has a good plan for your life?”  Yes. I do. I try to. But that doesn’t always make the battle easier. Sometimes it makes it harder. And when you ask me to dismiss my very real feelings, and ‘just have faith’,  you take away my story. 

Things are not always as they seem.

The election is over and whether you’re happy and relieved or stunned and terrified by the outcome, the world has watched a country tear itself apart. People are hurting. Their fear is real. We need to listen to each other’s stories. I’m not sure how the healing begins, and there is deep work to be done. But all of us, wherever we live, have to put aside differences and beliefs for the greater good of humanity. Because if we carry on this way, if we ignore the core issues driving this great divide that have always existed but have now been given permission to step out of the shadows, hate will win. And that will affect the world, not just America.

We need to ask questions. Listen to one another. Don’t refuse someone else’s words. You may not like them. You may not understand them, but you do need to listen to them. Give others grace and an invitation to tell you their story. Perhaps then they will do the same for you.

Reach out to someone you wouldn’t normally talk to. Sit down over a meal and listen to each other. Our church did this a few weeks back – we’re a small congregation, but we tend to bounce off each other and once Sunday’s over, that’s pretty much it for a lot of us until next week. So we mixed a whole bunch of people up and went to different homes and met each other where we’re at. And I want to do it again. Because those things are awkward for me. I’m not a talker or a great socializer, but . . . maybe I’ve been missing out. Maybe I need to change that and step out of my comfort zone.

There’s so much more to say, but these words feel inadequate as is, and I don’t know if sharing my thoughts will help. If my voice will even be heard amongst the millions expressing one opinion over another this week and maybe that doesn’t matter. I know I’m just one person and I can’t change what’s going on. I can’t change the world. But I can change me.

So I want to tell you I’m sorry for not hearing you. For not really caring about your story, whatever it may be. And I’d love to hear it now. And maybe, maybe we all start talking to each other again, and really listening, with open minds and open hearts.

Every story has an end, and every end is a new beginning.

What if we could make this end the beginning of something better?

The choice is ours.

We still get to write the story.

Can we at least agree to try to do it together?

The Crash

Tags

Catherine West, Christianity, Inspiration, Life, Movies, Stuff

Ever been in a spot where you’re all prepared for one thing and then, before you can take your next breath, something happens to flip the entire day upside down?

Sure you have. I think we’ve all been there at some point. Maybe you’re there right now. That’s okay. Grab a coffee. Put your feet up. And just breathe.

So a couple weeks ago, my husband and I were all set for a relaxing evening. We were having some of his work colleagues round for a drink, then he and I planned to go out for dinner. Just as our guests were about to arrive, hubby retrieved a few wine glasses from one of our (many) china cabinets. A second later I heard the most horrendous crash.

And this . . .

A shelf had given way, resulting in several more coming down. And he’s standing there pushing up against the door because all the stuff that’s broken and all the stuff that’s still intact, it all wants to come crashing out onto the floor. And of course, the doorbell rings. It was like an SNL skit, but not so funny in the moment.

Well, what do you do? Pick up the pieces and move on. Literally. I let our guests in, we swept up what had already fallen out and he taped the doors shut and we said we’d deal with it in the morning. Because sometimes that’s all you can do.

Pick up the pieces and move on.

One thing you need to know – my husband collects antiques. It’s kind of his thing and he really enjoys going to auctions. Which is the reason we have not one but many china cabinets. So everything in that cabinet? It was old. Probably not replaceable, at least not for the price he would have paid.

What do you do when it all comes crashing down? 

It’s just stuff.  That’s what we said to each other later that evening over [several] drinks. “It’s just stuff.” Yeah, it’s not fun to let go of, because let’s be honest, we like our stuff. But really, when it all comes crashing down, and everything does at some point, you’ve got to let it go.

Your stuff may not be antique crystal and china. It could be your job, your home, a relationship, a publishing contract that may or may not happen . . . there are many things that hold us down, grip hard and refuse to let go. Many things we convince ourselves mean so much more than a lot of other, maybe more important things in our life. It’s not true. That stuff you think you love so much? I bet if you really think about, you can probably let it go.

Because when it all comes down, what’s left? 

What do you need the most in your life? What can you let go of and still live with? Is that one thing, your stuff, really that important?

I’ve had to ask myself these kinds of questions many, many times over the years under various circumstances. No doubt I’ll have to ask them again. And again. But our crash, though not fun at the time, reminded me once again that you just never know. Reminded me not to hold my stuff so close. And to remember that whatever I’ve been given can just as easily be taken away. And I need to be okay with that. I have to be okay with that.

So, Monday. Here we go. Are you willing to take a good look at your stuff this week? Ready to let some of it go?

I’m with ya. Let’s do this.

Conversation in A Coffee Shop

Tags

Encouragement, Writing Journey, Writing Life

I see her there. This sad reflection of myself. Sitting.

Alone.

Alone only with her thoughts and the icon flashing fierce on the blank screen.

Cautiously I slide into the seat opposite her. Offer coffee. And a smile of recognition.

“Hello, writer.”

She looks up, bleary eyed. Befuddled. “How did you know?”

The question sighs from her, sings over the casual conversation around us and lands with a deflated thud that shakes my soul.

“Thought it would be so easy, huh?”

“I did. I actually did.” A half laugh escapes and tears come. She swipes at them, angry. “At first it was fun, you know? Because I didn’t really know what I was doing and who cared anyway and then  . . . and then it got real. And all these . . . stupid expectations  . . .” She shrugs and sips, leaving it unfinished.

I know. 

“You think you can’t measure up. Think you’re going to fail.”

“I do.” The whispered words widen her eyes. Her lower lip trembles just a tad. And it makes my heart ache. “God, it’s terrifying. You know?”

Yes.

“I know.” That I can relax into the thought, even smile, seems astounding. Yet here we are. “You’re not going to fail.”

“Yeah?” A grin comes out of hiding and hints at hope. “What makes you so smart?”

“Oh.” I push fingers through my hair and wonder that I’ve any left. “Years of practice. Years of staring at that same blank page, wondering if the words will ever come. Wondering if I’ve really got what it takes to do this. Wondering how fast I can fall off the planet if I don’t.”

“Well, you’re still here obviously.”

“Obviously.” A shared smile seems to lighten the air. “Can I tell you something?”

Her eyes narrow with an almost imperceptible shake of her head. “I don’t suppose I can stop you.”

“Not really.”

“Well, go on then,” she huffs after a moment.

I lean in a little, because this is important. I don’t want her to miss it. “Screw them.”

“What?” I can tell she wants to laugh at the audacity of those words, but doesn’t. Stares back at me like I’ve lost my mind though.

I nod, serious. “Just what I said. Don’t study that pile of expectations a moment longer. Forget who wants what from you. Forget who said what and why. Don’t give the critics any more leverage, any more power. Seriously. They can’t touch you. Do this for you. Not for anyone else.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Not really.”

 

The challenge crests, almost within her grasp. Yet doubt still dances in her eyes. It’s in that moment, that infinite spilt second between rejecting truth and taking hold, that I remember.

It’s a leap of faith.

And if you want to finish the race, you have to take it.

“Some days I forget what it’s like,” she admits. “Believing in myself. Knowing this is what I was made for. Some days I forget what it was like at the beginning. When it was fun.”

“Hey.” I tap the top of her laptop. “You want it fun? Stop listening to all the crazy and kick that fear the heck out of there. Otherwise it’ll chain you down. And where’s the freedom in that?”

“That’s funny.” Elbows on the table, she rests her chin in her hands. “That’s why I started in the first place, you know. To give the words their freedom.”

“Exactly.”

“And I was good.”

“Still are.”

“You really think I can do this?” She sits back, shoulders a little straighter. A spark settles in her eyes and I let out my breath.

“You already are.” It had to be said. And finally she nods.

“I am, aren’t I?” And then she smiles.

A smile that stretches wide like doors flung open on a spring morning to let in fresh new air.

“And even if I fail, well, there’s no shame in that. Because I tried. And I’ll know I did my very best. And that’s all anybody can ask for, really, isn’t it?”

“It is indeed.” And the words are more for me now. Because I needed the reminder.

“Okay?” I reach my hand out and she clasps it tight.

“Let’s do it.”

So we will soldier on. Together.

Victory sidles up and slaps us both on the back.

Hello, writers. Welcome home. 

 

So We Don’t Miss The Good …

Tags

Finding Hope, Good Stuff, Happy New Year

My last blog post of 2015! How crazy is that! I’m hearing from a lot of people that this year has flown by, and I have to agree. Seems like just yesterday we were preparing to welcome in 2015, and here we are, saying goodbye.

If you’re like me, you take a little time to look back and reflect on the past year before moving into the next. I’ve thought a lot about it actually, about how the bottom dropped out at the start and I didn’t know which end was up for the longest time. About the soul-searching I had to do, the waiting and the wondering and the simply not knowing what was coming next.

That’s hard stuff. And I know my year was a breeze compared to some. Some of you lost loved ones. Mourned broken relationships. Faced unexpected financial losses and illness. And God knows the world is in crises. It’s easy to get sucked into the madness if you spend any time on social media.

Easy to lose sight of the good.

I’ve fallen into that trap too. So today, the last day in a somewhat tumultuous year, I’m focussing on the good. Because it was a good year. Busy, crazy, but so, so good.

We saw babies born, our son graduating from Berklee School of Music, a wedding, a 2 book deal, daughter’s photography career take off, son-in-law getting hired on as a full-time firefighter, and I celebrated my big 5-0 with an amazing surprise party and visit from my sister and family! It has been quite a year. I’ve been working hard, but also living. And doing my best not to miss the good.

I have so much to be grateful for, and I’m so thankful for all the wonderful friends and family who make my life what it is.

Pretty amazing.

So today I’m just sharing the good, a brief glance back, a few smiles, and a reminder of things to come!

 

 

And my word for 2016?

That one’s easy.

 

                                           

When You Don’t Know What To Say

Tags

Christmas, Give, Hope, Love, Peace

In the quiet of the morning, after two days of rain, calm crests over the ocean beyond my window. I watch gentle waves and wonder why it feels so impossible to make a difference in this world. Wonder why so many are hurting in a season supposed to be filled with joy. Where is the peace in all the madness? And why don’t I know what to say?

Because I am afraid. 

Afraid of speaking the wrong words. Afraid of saying too much. Not saying enough. And so I sit in silence.

The past few weeks the world has tipped over into disarray. Tragedy and terror try our patience and wring our souls dry. And there is anger. Ignorance. Fear. Words are wielded like weapons and they cut and create more havoc, dividing on all levels in the worst kind of way. 

Do we know how broken we are? Do we care?

How much easier to huddle in our homes, safe and warm and dry, while streets in far off lands run with blood. How much easier to avoid those closer to home who need more than we think we can possibly give. We are convinced now that we cannot make a difference. And fear has won.

I envy those who believe they can. Those who push fear aside and step into darkness. Those who stand up and speak and get up and do. And I wonder if I could be one of them. If I could turn off the noise . . . the vitriol, the incessant back and forth fighting filling social media, a virus that will sicken us all if we let it . . . is that even possible now? And I wonder where the good is. Surely we have not succumbed so fully to this darkness that we no longer recognize the light.

Have we? 

Have I?

Or have we snuffed it out? Burned that candle right down to wick so it no longer holds a flame. I don’t know. Perhaps.

It’s possible that in all the mass confusion, unimaginable hurts and horrors, that we have lost sight of the good. That we have become so consumed with what is going on beyond our borders, we’ve also forgotten the very ones around us who need us just as much. Who need to know they are also loved. That they too matter.

And maybe that’s where we start. Acknowledging the brokenness instead of finding someone to blame for it. Attempting to fix it rather than figuring out how it all happened in the first place.

Fear tells us we can’t. Fear tells us we’re going looking for trouble when we try to do good. Fear keeps us in the safety of our homes, behind locked doors.

But love? You know.

Perfect love casts out fear.

Love in the truest, purest form, makes us more than who we think we are. More than what the world tells us we are. That kind of love lets people in. Lets us out beyond our safety zones and pushes us into places we’d rather not go. Places we cannot possibly go without it. But once we’re there? We know it’s we’re meant to be.

I can’t go out and save the world. But I can love those around me.

It may be a small step. But it may be all we can do. All we have to do.

A phone call. A card or email. A meal. Or even a hug.

I think I’ll start there. Because sometimes there isn’t anything to say. Sometimes words fail.

And actions speak louder.

How will you love this season?

Where We Dwell …

Tags

Being Real, Choices, Encouragement, Faith, Hope, Life

It came down to this. These words.

You have a choice. You can stay in this place of despair and despondency, waiting for things that may never happen … or you can move on.

Find another place to dwell. 

A moment like that, if you’ve ever had one, can be life changing. And once you’ve been there, you never forget it. You never forget that minute, the way you stood up, shaky on legs unused to standing firm. You never forget the way it felt when you tipped your chin just so, raised your eyes and faced down that fear. And that first step, when you thought you might stumble, but instead you had hands to hold and arms to get all wrapped in, and words were whispered through the tears … and then … and then the laughter came.

Sometimes it’s hard to find another place to dwell. When you’ve been there so long, listened to the same lies over and over and even bought into them when you swore you wouldn’t, it’s hard to believe things can change. But they can. You just have to move.

So often in victory, once we’ve climbed the mountain, we do forget. We forget what it felt like back there, in that hard place, and we don’t think about what we left behind.

Or the ones who may still be struggling. 

I wonder how many feel that familiar sense of dread as the holidays approach. That overwhelming sense that no matter what you do, what you say, how you dress, what gifts you give … it just won’t be enough. That you … you … will just never be enough. 

It’s an ache like damp cold that seeps in and stays and you know you need to shake it off but you’ve tried time and again and today … you’re tired. Today you can’t. Just. Can’t.

Hello, church? 

I wonder if we can take a break for a moment. Just quit the complaining, the chastising and comparing and care. Really look around with eyes to see and ears to hear, and maybe you’ll be surprised to find that there’s a broken world out there, so desperate for something new and life-giving … and they’re looking at us … and we are failing.

Why? Because we’ve forgotten. We’ve forgotten that moment we made the choice to change our lives and move. We’ve forgotten that we were once in that place with no way out, desperate to escape cloying darkness determined to snuff out all our light.

And now that we’re here, rescued and rested and ready for this new thing … so warm and safe and secure … we don’t want to look back. I know. It’s hard. Because it hurts to remember the reality of being vulnerable and wounded and scared and now we’re so darn busy pretending in all our perfection that we simply can’t make the time to help, to hear, to heal.

So what if we stop. What if we just get real? Because let’s face it, nobody wants your fake perfect. And nobody cares what color your cups are.

Brokenness is not contagious. But it can kill a spirit. 

Self-righteousness slices deep and wounds so dangerously …

And judgement? Bleeds life right out of a person. 

I wonder if we can do better this year?  In all our moving on and moving up and moving out … I wonder if there is room for more in the place we now dwell.

More love. More laughter. More life.

Because we don’t have to have it all together.

I don’t. And I no longer pretend to. You can take my vulnerable and my honest and my blunt and wrap it all up pretty if you want, but it still comes from that same hard place. That place I left behind not so long ago. The place that marked me and left a few scars and some not so pretty stories to tell. And I’m okay with that. You want to know me? Get ready for real. That’s all I’ve got.

But you are welcome to walk alongside and listen. And maybe we can learn together.

I’d love to see things change. Love to see more grace. Less judgement. More compassion. But I know I can’t do that on my own. And I guess that’s okay too.

What I can do is embrace the here and now and saving grace and love and mercy, and maybe … with a deep breath and a whole lot of courage … maybe I can just put my arms out and help somebody else. Even if only through the words I write.

Right here. Right now.

Right where I dwell.

And maybe you can too.

This New Revolution

Tags

Being Real, Believe, Challenge, Choices

Whoa. It’s been awhile.

I’ve been off at my happy place the past few weeks. Our lakeside hideaway in Northern Ontario. And it wasn’t quite the holiday we were expecting, with family illness that added some stress to what was supposed to be a stress-free time. But such is life. You move through it. You deal. And we did. Enjoyed some peace and quiet when we could, hung out with family, and spent some time alone, reconnecting after a crazy busy time, before heading home and getting back on the roller-coaster of life, with a promise to live it out more intentionally.

So I’ve been contemplating the whole should I blog or not blog thing again. You know? Because I never know who’s reading this unless someone comments, and I get all insecure and uptight and think, wow, I’m putting myself out there and for what? Nobody wants to hear all this. And maybe I shouldn’t be saying all these things online, giving unknowns a glimpse into my personal thoughts, fears, hopes and dreams. Because what if they don’t get it and I come across as a big whiny baby or they don’t see the heart behind the words and the intent to encourage, and all they see is someone insignificant?

Yep. Someone Insignificant.

Maybe you know that person too.

  

I’ve alluded to this before, but since the new year, I’ve been in a battle. It’s been an up and down time, nasty and scary and downright hard, and I’ve wanted to quit fighting so many times … but somehow, I didn’t. I didn’t quit because I knew if I gave up, then it’d all be over. I’d stay in that dark place and replay all the old tapes that say things like you’ll never make it, you’ll never be good enough, you’re not … this … that … you fill in the blank from your own stash.

I wish I could tell you what happened. Why all of a sudden the darkness broke and I crawled out of the muck and mire and finally stood, still breathing, smiling, tipped my face to the sun and just believed … I’m sure it was a culmination of friends praying and pulling me through and God of course, doing his thing, and my own stubbornness that finally refused to give the enemy any more ground.

So I’m here to tell you that if I can do this, you can too. I’m writing it down. Writing this blog post to encourage you, whoever you are, wherever you are on this journey. Because we need each other. I know I can’t do this thing alone. Maybe right now you think you can. I hope you find out you’re wrong.

In this time of seeking and searching, I’ve discovered a new revolution. I’m sure it’s been around awhile, I just haven’t been looking. But I’ve come to realize there’s an army of brave women out there, very much like myself, who’ve come through the battle and lived to tell the tale. And they’re sharing those stories. Creating community. Living the thing out.

Some, like Brené Brown, Glennon Doyle, Ann Voskamp, Jen Hatmaker, they’re doing it publicly, with thousands of followers, books and YouTube videos to their name. Others, like you and me, maybe we’re not so much in the spotlight, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have a voice or that we can’t be heard.

I matter. 

You know what those 2 words mean to me?

Everything.

Victory.

That’s what it comes down to. Overcoming insecurity and the inherent behaviors that only lead to self-deprecation, and the destruction of the soul – it’s not an easy assignment. Today I can sit here and write that word – victory – and mean it. Tomorrow I might not feel it. But I’ll do it anyway. Because it’s the knowing that I’m not alone, knowing that I belong, knowing that I am loved, and even needed, hard as that still is to take in, it’s what keeps me going.

Transitioning from turning inward to reaching out … that’s where I’m at. So it’s about being vulnerable, being brave and moving forward. Saying the words anyway, even if nobody’s listening. Speaking out instead of shutting up. Loving more. Living whole-heartedly, intentionally. It’s about choice.

And I choose to believe I can.

So I’ll keep blogging, even if it’s just for me. Because I need to remember this. Those moments from the past that shape the future. And I think it’s okay to share all that. To be open and honest. There are too many liars in this world.

We need more truth tellers. More women, and men, willing to rise to the challenge and speak up, speak out and stand for what’s good and right and honorable.

I want to be one of them.

And whether my words reach only a few or a hundred, they’re out there. And maybe they’re giving hope. Healing. Because they’ve come at a cost, you see. You know nothing comes for free. But when you’ve come through the other side, with that hard-won victory in hand, you can’t help but want to share it. Not only is it a privilege, but I believe it’s a requirement.

So I’ll share my words, my heart, my hope, and trust you with it.

Not an easy thing to say from someone used to putting up steel barricades. I’m well-schooled in the art of self-preservation. And maybe it’s still a gamble, this whole letting people in thing. But so far so good. I’ve got some keepers in my life, and God knows I can’t do it without them.

I don’t think I was ever meant to.

And I’m good with that.

Just My Thoughts.