As I have gone through life, I have found that there are several quotes and axioms and Scriptures that have resurfaced or repeated time and time again, often extremely pertinent, relevant, and poignant to just what I was experiencing at the time. Several of these have come to form cornerstones for me and the way I live my life. What I will include here are four of those soul foundations.
life
NaBloPoMo Day 9: On Down the Road
As I peer seven years down the road, I cannot See, of course, but I can imagine. I can paint my future with shades of “maybe” and “what if”, but, most of all, I can outline and foundation it with hope and faith and love.
In seven years, my little girl will be getting ready to turn ten and getting ever so tall and beautiful. If she follows in the vein that she had already begun, she will epitomize and embody the phrase “a fierce, spiky little thing” and I will still be admiring and working to temper her fearlessness and still trying to help refine her strong-willed nature. She will be reading and writing and imagining, hopefully still singing with all her heart and dancing with all that strength and exuberance that she shows now.
In seven years, I hope to see Ben exactly where God wants him and, moreover, knowing deeply and joyfully that it is exactly where God wants him and where he is supposed to be. Even more, it would thrill my soul if that coincided with some of the desires of his heart pertaining to ministry, learning, and writing.
As for myself, I am not sure where I will be in seven years. If I am working, I hope that it will be something that will enable me to make a good contribution to supporting our family, will not be too stressful (as in not drive me to therapy stressful), and where I will be able to use my knowledge and skills to be of assistance, even if it is just my organizational and editing skills. It would also be great if it was a job that I could leave at work at the end of the day and come home to be with my family with no guilt or proverbial sword of Damocles hanging over my head and drawing my mind away from what is so very important.
A great deal can happen in seven years and while I am hopeful for the future, I am not going to try to look too far down the road and miss those precious moments and experiences that are right in front of me today and just on the other side of tomorrow’s sunrise.
BloPoMo Day 3: Golden Authenticity
A friend shared this on Facebook and I thought it absurdly appropriate to share here as well. Thank you, Genevieve V. Georget, for your authenticity! Follow her here – https://www.facebook.com/genevievevgeorget?fref=ts
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It was a Wednesday afternoon when I walked into Starbucks that day nearly six years ago. I stood at the bar, waiting for my drink, when the barista politely asked me what I was up to that day. As it turns out, I was en route to the airport at that moment…about to catch a flight to Italy with my husband. After a brief minute of chatting, the barista handed me my coffee and wished me a nice trip. “But then again”, she said “why wouldn’t you…your life is golden!”
I’ll admit…the gold star was nice. But at the same time, the words knocked the wind out of me. She wasn’t being rude. She wasn’t being sarcastic. In fact, she was being totally genuine. And that’s the part that really took my breath away.
Because here’s the thing…
This lovely girl saw me for all of five minutes a day. Usually all dressed up on the way to my full-time job at one of the country’s most prestigious art galleries. Or with my camera in hand to photograph two people in love. Or, yes, on my way to Italy for ten days to celebrate my anniversary. This is what she saw. Therefore, this is what she knew.
And truth be told, there is darkness in this kind of knowledge. Especially now, when so many of our connections happen only five minutes at a time…fully filtered and perfectly hash tagged. In our defense though, it’s not entirely our fault. That battle we’re fighting…those rough days were having…they don’t tend to translate very well when you have twenty people in line behind you for coffee or a hundred and forty characters to spell out your day.
Honestly, what was I going to tell my barista?
“Yes, we’re flying to Europe. I just miscarried our baby…we had a terrifying health scare…I’m suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder…and we’re feeling pretty far from God right now. So, yeah, going to Italy seemed as good a place as any to just run away from our life and justifiably eat gelato twelve times a day.”
No. I wasn’t going to tell her this. Because shocking total strangers into oblivion is a bit harsh and cruel. Especially when she’s the girl in charge of making your coffee every day.
But I did spend the entirety of that flight wondering; about our sense of authenticity…our collective vulnerability…our polished identity. And it made me feel like a total fraud. Because I’m not any of those things that this girl sees on the other side of her coffee bar.
If I showed up one morning, wearing my most ragged and scarred self…it would be a very different girl staring back at her [and she would likely feel inclined to serve me alcohol instead of coffee!]…
Because I was bullied a lot as a teenager.
I’m afraid of thunderstorms.
I spend an absurd amount of time worrying about what other people think of me.
My biggest challenge in life is letting go of people. Even if they hurt me.
I hide behind my humor for fear that people won’t accept me without it.
I feel like I have failed as a daughter.
I try to avoid big groups so that I won’t feel like the invisible one among it.
I’m insanely self-conscious of my smile.
I feel like I’m an easy person to walk away from in life…and it haunts me on a daily basis.
I almost always operate under the assumption that I care more about everyone else than they do about me.
I unfollow people on Instagram if their life seems too perfect because it makes me feel inadequate.
I feel like a terrible mother pretty much all the time.
I hate emptying the dishwasher.
Every day, I’m afraid that my husband is going to wake up and finally realize how much crazy he married.
I thank God for every day that he doesn’t!
I don’t like to try new foods…so I travel with my own jar of peanut butter.
I want to write a book so badly that it hurts. But I’m afraid of people telling me that my life was never worth telling.
I struggle, every single day, with feeling like I’m enough. Skinny enough. Funny enough. Good enough.
And I cry. A lot.
I highly doubt I would get a gold star for any of this. But, now, six years later, I do know one thing for sure; that even with all of my frailty…all of my fears…and all my faults…none of those things make my life any less golden.
Scars tell stories. Scars mean survival. Scars mean you showed up for the fight instead of running from it.
And we’ve all got them…even the sweet girl serving my coffee. She’s fighting her own battle…defending her own front line…struggling in her own way.
And maybe it’s not about collecting gold stars for the perceived reality we give the world on Facebook…but it’s about the purple hearts we get for living bravely among the real one.
Because life requires guts…it requires bravery…and it requires vulnerability.
So, buy your coffee…wear your scars proudly…and carry on, dear soldier…
You’re not in this battle alone.
photo credit: www.richellehunter.com | Richelle Hunter Photography
Courage: The First Rung on the Ladder
Last night, I was reading Wordables.com before bed and they had a series of quotes from Maya Angelou, some of which I had never read before. This one struck me particularly and I shared it on my personal Facebook page before I headed off to bed with the added comment of “Have courage and be kind”.
It set me to thinking. I would usually be one to say that love is the greatest virtue BUT, the more I thought about it, the more I agree along similar lines of Ms. Angelou’s quote. Without stepping out in courage, how can we show love? Without courage, how can we choose to be kind to strangers? Without courage, how can we champion justice? Without courage, how can we face hardships and challenges in order to be the best version of ourselves that we can be?
Courage is not merely running into the face of danger. Courage is not the absence of fear. Courage is having an absolutely awful day but being willing to listen to someone else’s awful day and determining to try your best again tomorrow. Courage is saying “hello” to someone who is grieving, even if you might not know what else to say to them. Courage is letting someone know you are thinking about them, even if you know you might not hear back from them. Courage is facing that classroom full of students, each with large and individual needs, and doing your absolute best for the benefit of their education. Courage is showing love in the midst of anger, grace in the midst of hurt, kindness in the midst of strife, integrity in a world of rationalization and dishonesty, and compassion when surrounded by indifference.
Love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. All admirable, all life-giving. But I think that almost any and every virtue we can practice or demonstrate starts with this: the courage to step out and say, “I will.”
I will try again tomorrow.
I will take a breath before I respond.
I will listen instead of talk.
I will say hello even though it is hard.
I will give.
I will help.
I will be there.
I will admit I was wrong.
I will do my best to make it right.
I will show love, have courage, and be kind.
My Life Song
This is intensely personal and has a great deal to do with my faith and how I look at how I should live.
I have sung this song quite a few times in my life but, as we sang it at the close of worship service today, a thought struck me.
This is my heart song, my life song.
This is what I want my life to be about, my efforts, my desires, and what I want to be evident in the way I go through this life.
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Out in the highways and byways of life, Many are weary and sad; Carry the sunshine where darkness is rife, Making the sorrowing glad. |
| Make me a blessing, make me a blessing, Out of my life may Jesus shine; Make me a blessing, O Savior, I pray, Make me a blessing to someone today. |
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Tell the sweet story of Christ and His love, Tell of His pow’r to forgive; Others will trust Him if only you prove True, every moment you live. |
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Give as ’twas given to you in your need, Love as the Master loved you; Be to the helpless a helper indeed, Unto your mission be true. |
My Sacred Spaces: Pen and Paper
Author’s Note: Here is the second installment of my “sacred spaces” writings.
When I started this post, I was sitting on the floor and next to me were my newest journal and my fountain pen, waiting for when I was done blogging so that I could pick them up and record and reflect on my day’s moments. This is one of my sacred spaces: pen and paper. When I open my journal, a notebook, or notepad, and am greeted by empty lined pages, I cannot help but feel the potential, a welcoming sense in that openness. Like the page is waiting for me, holding its breath as it waits to see just what I will create on that open paleness.
As I write, I sometimes feel like my mind is just pouring out through the 
cracks, flowing out through the ink in my pen. Some of those cracks are repaired, healed, and stronger than before, some are still healing, and yet others are just now nicks that I am trying to tend to before they hairline and snap. My pain, my joy, my creativity, my utter lack of spoons, whatever is going on in that particular moment, it all flows through the fissures in my humanity, filling the page with emotions, perceptions (correct or incorrect), rantings (impassioned or enraged), worlds, characters, fantasies, life decisions, prayers, dreams, and reflections.
As I let it all pour out, I sometimes feel those fractures getting lighter, as if my own flawed humanity doesn’t weigh quite so heavily on my soul. Whether I share that poured out humanity with others or keep it private, the lightening is still there. My heart feels a bit freer sometimes when I force myself into honesty. To answer your question: yes, honesty with one’s self is just as hard or maybe more so than honesty with others. When I sit down with my journal or my computer, I still sometimes struggle with the idea of being accepted, ie, the freedom to write whatever I feel like I need to write. I cannot accurately describe the force of will and courage that it has taken for me to press the “Publish” button sometimes, and the reception hasn’t always been great BUT I was true to my soul and what I felt I needed to write in that particular moment. And that is worth it.
There is a peace in putting pen to paper that I do not think I have ancient or perfect enough words in my vocabulary to describe. I have been filling notebooks and journals since I was in middle school. Geek moment: I once filled three notebooks in the writing out of the film “3 Ninjas” from memory. There are hundreds of pages filled with the story of my life, with the peace that I have found in reflection and pouring out my heart and mind through the cracks. I even remember particular favorite spaces to write. One of the is the booth all the way back, against the wall, on the left as you walked into the Student Union on the University of Evansville campus. From there, I had a great view of the rest of the union and, particularly, the corner that the theatre students had claimed as their own, and, from there, I could turn inward and fill pages with silver and black ink, the sweet scent of leather in my nose from the journal cover, as I worked my way through my undergrad years, those first few years on my own away from home.
I will forever call pen and paper home, safety, peace, and portal. A deeply sacred space.
Thoughts of a Sunday: Social Spoons & Gut Feelings
I am weird about being around people. I often have little issue with chatting with folks online but being in public with people can be hit or miss at times. I admit that there are days that I cannot handle it. There are days that I have ducked out to the bathroom during greeting time at church (like today) because I simply didn’t have the social spoons to deal with shaking hands/interacting with everyone. There are times that I have been absolutely elated at the cancelling of plans, others when I have been devastated and never admitted it. There are times that my spoons have been so few that I have closed my laptop, put my phone in another room, or screened my calls/message alerts just to avoid having to talk to anyone of an evening.
I love people. Really, I do. But, sometimes, I just cannot handle them. Sometimes I can handle them in small doses. Sometimes I want to get lost in a crowd that I don’t know and be alone in public. And sometimes I just have to force myself to be around large groups, e.g. when teaching, and fake it until I make it. The last leaves me absolutely exhausted and I spend at least a night recharging. That can either be with alone time or by socializing with a handful of people whom I actually, deeply like and enjoy being around.
Have you ever had a gut feeling for someone? Someone specific? That feeling deep in your core that told you to text, call, write, or instant message them and just…say something nice? Not platitudes but something genuinely, honestly nice? I have and I do, often. And I don’t always understand it.
Sometimes it comes in the morning, sometimes it’s the last thing at night. I might have seen the person just yesterday, or it might have been weeks or even months since I’ve seen or spoken to them. And, yet, there they are: sitting on my heart with a big blinking arrow pointing at them.
I don’t always understand it, but I do it anyway. I’m not saying that this makes me a great person but it is the way I determined to live my life a long time ago. I will always do my best to give those God-gut feelings and heart nudges credit and respect and follow them, whether or not I understand it, get it, or even want to. I never know what might happen or what good might be done to that person because I heeded that gut feeling.
Sneaky Contentment
I am constantly amazed by how content I find myself to be in so relatively simple a space as that which I call home. Today, I sat on a bench in the park behind my house, enjoying a bright, cloudless morning, a cool breeze at my back, and the rustle of the trees above in my ears, and, for the moment, the world was still and beautiful and I utterly content within it. I looked out at the world around me – the bright blue of the sky, the shimmering green of the grass, the sight of my daughter fearlessly climbing the slide steps all by herself to slide down with glee – and I wondered just how it could be possible to have all of this and be unhappy? I have a husband who adores me and I him, who is my partner in all things, a house to call our own, a child who is healthy, hearty, and hale, cars that get us from A-B-A, friends to go through life with, and hobbies that make us us happy and keep us challenged and having fun. I have so very much and yet I am amazed to find myself content. Is it a bad thing to find contentment so surprising in this day and age? Maybe it is, but I am content and therein I choose to be happy.
That Other Feeling
There are days when I feel that I am inexplicably Other. Other from other people. Friends, family, companions, peers. Other even from myself. It’s difficult to explain. It’s not a feeling of sadness or anger. It’s more a feeling of being off-center, of having slipped slightly to the left or something. Like I am standing beside my world rather than within it.
I feel like Alice, sometimes. That I am, somehow, not quite myself. Though, I suppose that might be true for many of us.
In Empty Red
Not a great deal on deck today. It’s been a rainy, gloomy, blah sort of day. I was more active this evening than throughout the whole of the day. But, now, my daughter is abed, I am contemplating a cup of something before my own bedtime, and then, hopefully, some deep, good sleep.
Perhaps tomorrow, my dears. Perhaps tomorrow.
MWGS: Mom, Writer, Geek, Superwoman 