Month: March 2015

Why We Need You

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“…when the story of earth is told, all that will be remembered is the truth we exchanged. The vulnerable moments. The terrifying risk of love and the care we took to cultivate it.
And all the rest, the distracting noises of insecurity and the flattery and the flashbulbs will flicker out like a turned-off television.”  -Donald Miller, Scary Close 

If you haven’t been stuck in a car outside an elementary school pick-up line, quite frankly…you’re among the few still sane in this world. But if you’re like the rest of us, you know what that 20 minute standstill is good for. All those texts. Just as many stray eyebrow hairs. (What is it with daylight bringing those suckers front and center?) Screaming toddlers who throw sippy cups at the dashboard. And of course, catching up with the other soldiers in the trenches. I like to call us moms.

It was on such a day, as I was likely checking my teeth, that I spotted her. I knew her car from when our girls weren’t in kindergarten. Before they dumped their Crayolas into a big bin together. Back when they wore pink tights and tutus and were barely potty-trained. Back when we each only had the two children.

I waited for her to look up, the timing of this particular social medium still a mystery to me. Eventually her head turned and I shot my hand in the air like I had suddenly noticed her too. But she didn’t wave back. Oh, she didn’t see me, I thought.
Except we quit talking. She wouldn’t return my texts. News traveled that they were moving. And I was crushed.

It can be daunting, can’t it? Friendship isn’t always like those flowing beach novels. It isn’t as faithful as a Thursday night sitcom from the nineties. We try, we get hurt, and somewhere deep inside we make a vow to never let it happen again.

“…it is a surrender. We open up to another person, and to God, our particular questions and dilemmas.” -Emilie Griffin, Small Surrenders

It would be a tragedy if we were to stay safe. My heart, your heart is beautiful. And it is desperately needed in this culture. Even the parts you don’t like about yourself, they are a piece of the beauty too because something incredible happens when we say we struggle, fail. It allows another the freedom to say, “Me too.” It allows the Spirit to start changing and growing us.

“How can we be loved if we are always hiding?” -Donald Miller, Scary Close

When we offer the wisdom of our life experiences and the truth of our inadequacies we harvest an intimacy with someone who will be there when tragedy strikes and we are brought to our knees. We share a bond that pushes us beyond stagnant faith. We live out the love of the gospel, because don’t think for a minute it won’t stretch us to also love well in our communities.

Been hurt? It’s okay. We all have.

Follow me through Lenten season at southeastcc.org/lent

I’m No Good at This

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It’s become quite clear I’m no good at this Lent thing. If my earlier description of face-planting on my bed from lack of coffee wasn’t enough of a clue. But when you come from an environment of rigidity and religion into one of truth and freedom, it’s difficult to invite restrictions again. Still, I see the value and I’m in this.

The two days I’ve been assigned to write so far have paralleled chapters in Small Surrenders about prayer. And each time I rolled my eyes. Griffin touches on the feeling of “fear of consolation in prayer.” That is not where I find myself at all, I thought as I read it. Most of the time I bounce from one drop-off lane to another, barely eat a sensible anything, and then hope God knows my heart as I shamefully find that scrumptious side sleeping position in my mattress. How am I supposed to pen anything introspective here? If nothing else, I am afraid of my constant failure. 

Ah, and it comes into focus. Both ideas are fueled by one thing. To quote one of my favorite authors, Brene Brown-
“…shame is the fear of disconnection. We are psychologically, emotionally, cognitively, and spiritually hardwired for connection, love, and belonging. Shame is the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing that we are flawed and therefore unworthy of love and belonging.” 
And what is prayer but speaking our truest selves in the most significant relationship we will ever know? At our core we long for emotional intimacy, love, and a sense of a belonging. We’re women, for Pete’s sake, whoever Pete is. Prayer is our avenue to this with our Father.
So how’s your journey going? Did you fail and give up, or want to? Does shame keep you locked from trying again? Do you fear that the joy you are experiencing won’t last and is somehow a reflection that you aren’t going deep enough? Take heart, friend. We are all in this lesson of grace together. I believe with my whole heart that God is not disappointed in you. Rather He misses you, pines for the time you will come back, loves you with a “perfect love casts out all fear” kind of love, and cannot wait to hear from you. He is perfect so we don’t have to be.
So go ahead, scoot on into His arms and tell Him all the things. Even if you’re afraid.
 
References: Emilie Griffin, Small Surrenders; Brene Brown, Daring Greatly; The Holy Bible NASB, 1 John 4:18

Follow me and some amazing women as we continue blogging through the Lenten season at southeastcc.org/lent

A Letter From Heart-Pup

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Today is our birthday. Can you believe it’s been ten years since Dad picked me off the gift shop shelf? It was a happy place with all the balloons and cheerful t-shirts but, I was mostly glad to be chosen. Sure, somewhere I was manufactured, stuffed and threaded and given a tag. But the bunny in that book is right. You aren’t really alive until you love.

Those first days you slept a lot. I sat in the corner of our Pack ‘N Play, listening to the cadence of your small breaths. So tiny that sometimes Mom would lick her finger and put it under your nose. I’m still not sure why she did that. Even your cries back then were soft. That of course took no time to change and soon I was grateful to be there to comfort you since you usually felt safe when I was close.

Remember how it felt like a tent when they put us in your carrier seat and took us places? Dad would find a big blanket, the one our sister uses every night now with the pink ribbon around the edges, and he’d snuggle us together between the straps. Then he’d hide us so the cold couldn’t reach and I remember how I was so content in there with you. You found my ear once while you sucked your thumb and slowly, this became our rhythm.

The first time you called my name it confused Mom, but I knew. I knew right when you said “Butterfly-Pup” that you were calling for me.
“What, Honey? What do you want?”
“Buh-fly pup!”
“Oh, Sweetie that’s a heart. See? Heart-Pup.”
I still like to think my name is “Butterfly” though. Because that’s what you named me.

We spent hours on the princess potty, you reading me stories of other dogs and cats named Oscar or Tilly. I loved your made-up stories. When you’d slide a tiara down the length of my ears or pour me a water in a Tinker Bell tea cup. Your hair was so crazy at times, a fountain spilling from your head because the pigtails had dried it funny.

But I also remember those never-ending nights sitting beside our silver bowl and the clank of your fingernails while you were sick. I stayed until Mom gave me a hot washing. But all that soap was worth not leaving you. I’ve endured plenty of coughing, snot, tossing and dropping. Remember I was lost among the shoes? You had showed me those animals, the elephants and zebras, and then we were going home when I felt the cold tile. There were so many soles and ankles and I just wanted you. I heard you yelling at mom, and I’m so glad you told her where I was because what if I had never seen you again? What if I missed dancing in the living room, hideouts in the front yard bushes where you tell me your secrets, the smell of your face in the morning, the way you’re growing and needing me less and less? But don’t worry about that. Even this is joy for me.

After that I had to stay home more. Mom didn’t want me getting lost so she said I couldn’t come along as much. Remember when they bought the other Heart-Pup that was so not me? You could tell. They didn’t fool us though I was glad you had the company. At least until you brought home Black-Pup. He has been my best friend besides you. He was with me after Nana gave me surgery and new stuffing, when you were trying out your new camera, and the first day you went to school. I don’t know what I would have done all these school days since if it weren’t for him.

What I see, when you aren’t paying attention, when you are busy with your Spirograph or licking your latest wounds from our brother, is a lot of love. Mom sees you, adores you, is so proud of the way you know yourself enough to say your voice in a tone that is not demanding but simply is yours. Dad thinks you are beautiful, gets teary at night thinking of how little time you have left with us. Brother looks up to you. In fact that’s why he’s always trying to be faster, better, right-er, because he knows you’re two years ahead of the game. Sister wants to be you in every way. She wants your clothes, your mature thoughtfulness, your freedoms. And it’s all love. I know because I watch when you don’t.

So happy birthday from me, Heart-Pup. Your best friend who will forever keep your secrets and always be here.