This year marks a lot of milestone changes for our little family.  K and her boyfriend of 7 1/2 years ended their relationship.  She has a new boyfriend and for the first time she opted to stay in her apartment rather than move home for the summer.  N graduated and will be moving to college in just one month.  I will be looking for a part time job this fall. Bruce and I? We’re figuring it out as we go along.  It’s hard work to redefine a relationship that has only ever been defined by the existence of children.

Yesterday I saw my therapist and we were discussing how to deal with the mistakes my now adult children are making.  Most of those errors in judgement are coming of age things that we all experienced, the kind you chalk up to living and learning;  growing pains, if you will.  A few, however, require a bit of parental intervention to make sure things get back on course.  This can be tricky because while I want (and need) to show them that the things they are doing could have long term implications to their reputation and their opportunities in life, I must also not come off as preachy or they will tune me out and shut me out.  I no longer have the advantage of saying “It’s my way or the highway” because they might actually choose the highway. My therapist was talking me through this and one thing she mentioned was to ask them, “Is this really the person you want to be?”

I loved that.  I loved it so much that I turned it around and asked myself, “Is this the person I want to be?”  And the answer was hard.

In a lot of ways, no, it’s not.  Not even close.  Some of it goes back to the good heart/bad mind I talked about the other day.  Sometimes my mind hijacks my heart and takes it places it doesn’t want to go.  Sometimes it’s impulsivity or the lure of fitting in or that damn Jones family I am always trying to keep up with. And sometimes it’s just being stubborn or lazy (or both).  But I do know that my actions don’t always align with my values.  And that is not who I want to be.

I want to be known as someone who is honest and fair, someone who works hard at whatever job I have, someone who is joyful and lifts others up, someone who is trustworthy and kind.  I’d like to be someone who walks away from petty things like gossip and frivolous competition within the community, someone who can be trusted to listen without judging and speak without condemning. I’d like to be known as someone whose life was markedly changed by the love of Jesus Christ.

And while I have evolved into someone who is most of those things most of the time, I still suffer from my own errors in judgement when my words are harsh or my actions tell a different story than my values.

I think that making peace with my story has gone a long way to help me break free from the narrative that kept me caged.  I finally learned that I am more than the things that happened to me and that I certainly don’t have to let the things I’ve done define the person I am working on being.

I get to choose who I want to be and I get to act in a way that reflects that back to others.

What a freeing realization that is.

I’m free to be this new me and I don’t need to cling to relationships that bind me to a person that I haven’t been for decades now, relationships that gag my new words and dismiss my new ways of being.  I don’t need to be sabotaged by people who don’t bother to notice the me who has emerged from the rubble, softer and kinder.  And I certainly don’t need to punish myself for the rest of my life because I let my bad mind overrule my good heart into making some poor decisions 25 or 30 years ago.  (Decisions, by the way, that probably aren’t as horrible as you might think.)

I am free to be this new me and to set that other me free to live where she belongs: in the past.  And by letting her go, I have released a heavy weight that I didn’t even know was slowing me down.

It turns out that I had the key to the prison I was in all along.

 

 

“At any given moment you have the power to say: This is not how my story is going to end.”       -Christine Mason Miller

I choose now.  This moment.  Right now.  I choose to take control of my story and make different choices than I have been making.  I get to write my story, and I choose one that ends with “happily ever after”.

 

 

I started Anne Lamott’s newest book Hallelujah Anyway yesterday. It’s a short, quick read, but full of wonderful insights. So far it’s mostly about forgiveness and mercy, both giving and receiving.

In her book she writes about comforting people who are broken because of mistakes they have made. She says, in part:
“Life can be painful, but I am right here, and you have a good heart. This heart is who you are, not your bad mind.”
(Italics mine)

This heart is who you are, not your bad mind.

I want to tattoo this on my inner forearm so I can see it every day.

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My heart and my mind are often at war.

My heart is the same as it has always been: compassionate, tender, seeking to both give and receive love, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket of affection and dressed in a sequined cape of joy. My heart is full of chatter and warmth and mercy.

My heart has not changed.

My mind, however, has been calloused by the world. It is cynical and sarcastic, impatient and unforgiving, stubborn and righteous.

Life has taught me to hide my tender heart, to protect it at all cost, to bury it under layers of sharp words and to shield it with stubborn pride.

My mind is not who I am , but if you met me right now, you might not know it.

Here’s who I really am:

I am tears in church because there are people who are asking for diapers and toothbrushes for Christmas.

I am uncontrollable sobbing at the end of Ladder 49 because he dies.

I am hop in the car and drive to Eau Claire because my girl is hurting today.

I am put on my tap shoes and dance my heart out on stage, off beat and uncoordinated, just because I can.

I am sing at the top of my lungs and declare how much I love every song that comes on.

I am hugs and giggles and talking too fast and too loud and laugh snorting and twirling in skirts and cotton candy.

This heart is who I am, not my bad mind.

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I don’t know if I am just more aware of mercy because of Anne Lamott’s book or if God is pounding this point into me, but it has come up a few different times in the last 24 hours: twice on messages on the radio and today in my morning reading.

In the book of Exodus God calls the Israelites a stiff-necked people. I have always loved this description for some reason.

Probably because I relate to it.

The Israelites could not seem to learn to fully trust the God who had led them out of Egypt, the God who called them His people, the God who made an eternal covenant with them. Time and time again they complained, questioned, and asked for more than they were given.

They were obstinate, ornery, rebellious.

I don’t know about you, but I sure seem like that sometimes.

God has shown me mercy time and time again. More times that I am even aware of. But me? I am stiff-necked and don’t always give mercy to others. I judge them for their bad mind, not their heart.

I sometimes offer forgiveness but yank it back at the slightest annoyance. It seems that my mercy is often conditional….which is exactly what mercy is not.

I guess what I am offering is conditional amnesia.

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In my reading this morning, this verse naturally popped out at me:

Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy. -Matt5:7

Ouch, right?

Here I sit, drinking up God’s mercy from a venti Starbucks cup day after day, thinking nothing of it, while I refuse to give a thimbleful of this mercy to the people in my life.

We are called to be Jesus’ hands and feet here on earth. We are called to reflect Him to others. My unmerciful ways are certainly not showing others the Jesus I know.

So I will try to bring mercy into my days. I will soften my heart and my words,  and I will remember to give to others all that God has given me.

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Today I choose: Freedom

Half of the year is in the rearview mirror and I’m definitely due for a reset.

I don’t think that’s a negative thing, just a necessary one.  An opportunity to reflect, evaluate, and adjust my sails as needed.  This year, especially, it’s a way to make space for peace and calm.

I’m proud of some of the changes I’ve made.

-I’ve been working out regularly with a good friend.  The scale hasn’t moved much but I feel better both emotionally and physically.

-I’ve been giving myself grace to not feel obligated to do all the things, particularly when our calendar is jam packed with other commitments.

-I’ve gotten better at asking myself, “Is this right for me?” before I jump into another commitment.  And I’ve learned to say that some things are OK to admire but not pursue.

But there are definitely areas in which I’m not finding peace.

Often times it seems like I go three steps forward and two steps back.  This has always felt like failure to me, but I’m reminding myself that it’s still forward progress.

It is slow, clumsy, often frustrating progress, but it is progress.

This month I am going to focus on a few small changes as well as continue on with other habits I’ve developed:

1. I would like to write something every day in July.  It doesn’t have to be profound or earth shattering.  Even just a few sentences about our lives and what they look like right now.  I want to document the journey. 
2. Dry July.  I’ve been leaning on wine a bit too much recently.  One glass turns into two turns into three.  I’m not beating myself up for it — June was both a stressful and celebratory month, but I can see that it’s become a bit too easy to pour a glass in the evenings.  I’ve taken breaks from alcohol before and I know it’s beneficial for me.  It’s just a good way to check in with myself, recalibrate, and breathe.
3. I want to continue to explore healthful ways of eating that work for my life.  I tried Whole 30 back in May and it is not for me.  I’m working on making better choices and freeing myself from the grip that food has had on me for most of my life.  I’m trying to remember to ask myself two questions before I eat:  Am I hungry? Is this real food?  Two simple questions that I hope will guide me to a better place.
4. I need to spend more time outside.  May and June are typically full of hikes, bike rides, and exploring for me. The weather is usually gorgeous and I’ve come out of my winter funk by then.  I wasn’t able to do much of that this year because of other commitments.  (Instead of getting frustrated or upset about it, I reminded myself that I can’t do all the things, and that this year I needed to spend my time on graduation and college things. The outdoors will be there next year.)  Now that things have settled down a bit, I can get outside for a little bit every day.

There are a dozen other things that I feel like I need to change, but I am focusing on a few small steps at a time.  That seems to be working for me.

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Currently loving:  Iced almond milk lattes and uncommitted weekends.

Currently reading: Molokai’i by Alan Brennert

Today I choose:  Joy.

 

 

God is moving in my life right now.  Change is happening, I can feel it.

And I don’t like it.

When God is moving in your life it can feel uncomfortable, unnerving, disorientating, raw.  It’s hard to know which way to go, so I’m learning to wait, to be still, and to trust.

When you remodel a house, you must first demolish what is there — you must destroy things, discard things, make things dusty and dirty while you prepare for the new. All of the conformable things you depended on must be removed, at least for a time. All of the pretty things must be put it boxes and protected until the process is over.

Someone walking into the space during the process might see nothing more than chaos and  destruction.  They might take no more than two steps inside the door and turn around and leave, seeing nothing but ugly.

But you know the final plan.  You know what the space will look like after it is rebuilt and made new again. You can see the beauty over the mess.

So it is when God is moving in our lives.  He is rearranging things that are in the wrong place on our priority list, He is getting rid of things that are taking up space and don’t bring Him glory, He is making room for Him. We may only see the mess, but God has the blueprint.  He knows what the final product will be.

And so it is now with me.  God is shifting things around in my heart. It’s uncomfortable and messy, and I have found it easy to fall back into old patterns of numbing—with food, with drink, with shopping, with screen time.  But I reminded myself that none of those things has ever brought me peace, not one single time.  I reminded myself that I am different now, I know better ways of being.  I reminded myself that the discomfort is temporary. I reminded myself to trust God, the master architect of my life.

And if I trust Him completely and give Him full authority over my life, the end product will be more beautiful than anything I could have imagined.

I trust that this is true.

 

 

I give up.

I give up on the things that have a hold of me, the things that pull me down and stop my progress.

I give up on the things that feel like cement shoes.

I give up on trying to be someone I’m not.

I give up on too much: too much food, too much worry, too much wine, too much stuff.

I had it once, not that long ago.  I had ahold of the calm, the predictability.  I had my feet on solid ground.

But I was careless and let it slip away.  I allowed old habits to creep in, slowly, silently, almost imperceptibly.  I gave them an inch and they took my life.

But I’m taking it back.  I’m willing to go to battle again because I know how victory feels and I know I can win.

And most importantly, I know I’m worth it.

I won’t give up.

 

 

I’ve been thinking about truth lately, specifically my truth and what that looks like.  I’ve been thinking about what it would look like to live a raw, honest, no holds barred, transparent kind of life. A true life.

That’s not to say that life should be lived with the expectation that we share every thought, every idea or opinion, every whim that we have. Rather, perhaps it means being fully present, aware, and sometimes even vulnerable in our everyday lives.

Vulnerability is a tricky thing, and something with which I struggle.  My instinct and natural tendencies make me one who would share absolutely everything with the people in my life.  I have made the mistake of sharing too much too fast and having it come back to haunt me.  Experiences like this have turned me into someone who often shares very little.  I can be guarded, suspicious, cold.  I am working on finding that middle ground where I can be vulnerable with, as Brené Brown says, people who have earned it.

I remember a time when I felt free to be who I was.  I think I was five. But then the voices of the world started creeping in, telling me that who I was wasn’t good enough or was too much.  I was shown and told that my emotions were too big, too loud, too colorful, too intrusive and so I learned to not trust them.  I was told that who I was was not acceptable, so I began a lifetime of changing, trying to cram myself into a box that was not meant to contain me.

These are the days of unfolding myself from the origami shape I was pretending to be.  These are the days of discovery and ownership.  These are the days of learning, observing, and oh so cautiously revealing.  These are the days of me.

This becoming is tricky work – slippery, confusing, slow, sometimes lonely.  All of these feelings are uncomfortable for me, but I am learning to trust the process and to watch as a clearer picture of me begins to emerge from both the pieces I am putting together and the ones I am discarding.  I am leaning on my truth holders to remind me when I begin to go off course.  I am spending time alone and writing, creating, reading, remembering who I am.

What I am finding out is this:

When I live from a place of truth and honesty, from a place of authenticity and awareness, from the place that only I fully occupy, that’s when things are good and right and whole.  It’s when I start shape-shifting that I have problems, when I start pouring myself into other people’s molds that I lose sight of who I am.

I cannot become a better version of myself until I fully become myself, shedding the skins and costumes I have worn for decades.

As imperfect as I am, I was created by a perfect God and my wholeness and peace will be found only in Him, by first being who He created me to be and then in being obedient to His call.  He created me for a purpose and I cannot fulfill that purpose if I’m busy trying to be someone other than the one He created.

Here’s to the truth seekers.  May we all find shalom.

 

 

Life is full of responsibilities, there’s just no getting around it. (And believe me, I’ve tried a lot of ways of getting around it…)

I am, by nature, a list maker and a goal setter.

Goals ensure that I’m moving forward toward a better version of me and lists keep me both productive and sane.  I have lists of groceries to get, lists of books to read, lists of errands to run, lists of calls to make, lists of lists.  Lists are my jam and I love nothing more than checking each box off as I go.

But here’s the deal, my life had started to operate in one of two gears:

“Do not bother me I am doing all the things I need to do to get the boxes checked off and I cannot tend to you!” 

-or-

“Do not bother me I just did all the things to get the boxes checked off and I’m exhausted and I just need to rest!”

There was no space between doing the things and being tired from getting the things done for real life to happen.

There was no living in my life.

Instead of becoming a means to an end, goals had become a way of life. I was living my life certain that once I finished this project/lost this weight/read this book/quit this bad thing/lived in this place/took this class, then I would be happy.

But before I could even complete one goal my mind was on to the next big thing, the thing I could do that would bring me joy and peace.

But here’s what I’ve come to realize: the joy and peace don’t come in the completion of the lists and goals, they come during them.

The lists and goals aren’t the destination, they’re the journey.

What it comes down to is this:

I need to find joy in the doing, not just the getting done and peace in the becoming, not just the accomplishing. 

What does this mean for me?

It means being present. It means remembering that the things that happen when I’m on task and in the zone aren’t interruptions to my life, they are my life.

That’s where the living happens — in those little moments when I stop what I’m doing and give my full attention to the ones I love and the things that matter.  The living happens when I remember what my real, true, forever priorities are and operate in alignment with them. It’s listening with both my ears and my eyes, not with one ear tuned to the conversation, one ear tuned to the news, and both eyes on my device.

It’s leaving space in my calendar for unscheduled connection and spontaneous conversation. It’s doing things I enjoy just for enjoyment’s sake. It’s fully experiencing the moment without the need to take the perfect photo and post to every social media site to which I belong.

For me, it’s also meant a break from Facebook to try and realign myself with what really matters to me.

I’ve known for a while that I needed to step back from the constant bombardment of being told how I should live to be worthy the best version of me, but the recent political climate has put me over the top. I was beginning to live in a constant state very real anxiety from all the hatred and vitriol that was staring me in the face all day.

True, I could have simply unfollowed people or checked the site less frequently, but I knew a clean break was in order.

A week into my break and I’m feeling more productive, less agitated, and more creative without the constant stream of information coming at me full force all day.  I still want to be informed, so I check news sources in the morning and evening, but I have limited myself to that for now.

The space in between is mine, and I am enjoying defining that time as it suits me and my family.  I am working on being fully present wherever I am and to make sure there’s living in my life.

I’m certain I won’t be gone from Facebook forever, but for now it is opening up space to find joy in the doing and peace in the becoming.

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Currently reading:  The Gifts of Imperfection by Brené Brown

Currently loving:  Temple of India Scented Oil

Currently on repeat: Chain Breaker by Zach Williams