Lent

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

My Third Attempt at Lent

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It was the same as any morning. I dropped my kids while they were still arguing with me over when it is an appropriate time to unbuckle their seat belts (not five blocks from the school parking lot I reminded them), and began to claw my way to the nearest Starbucks. I’ll get tea, which is NOT breaking any commitments, I told myself. Halfway there my tires squealed a U-turn because the ritual- it was the same.

When I got home I lay face-plant position on my bed praying for a B12 shot to the butt and thinking, This is quite possibly the most ignorant thing I’ve ever done. Not so much the idea of a season without, but a season without coffee. In fact, I’m limiting myself to tea and water only. I know. I mean, I have three children under ten years old, two of whom started to run fevers a couple nights before and one who can conjure more curious energy in five minutes than an educational preschool show. What. Was. I. Thinking?
So I started to come up with ways to get around it. There’s coffee ice cream which isn’t technically drinking coffee. Morning Thunder Tea, whose name alone gets my attention. I could smell coffee grounds and maybe some of them would accidentally get sucked up my nose and give me a boost. Or I could keep nibbling (stuffing) that entire can of kettle cooked caramels covered in dark chocolate and sprinkled with sea salt until it’s one big chewy explosion of delight in my mouth but really someone please just…help me!
And isn’t this the crossroads? Help me. Save me from the need for caffeine, that glorious blend of bitter and sweet. Save me from soothing with Girl Scout Cookies, a glass of wine, mindless T.V. watching, and all things that leave me ultimately empty. Save me from myself so there is room for trust. Help me open my hands to more of You.
Then when 40 days has passed and I’ve learned a little about doing without a little, that box of Thin Mints and a full-shot Mocha are mine. In moderation, of course.

reLENTless

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A blue check marks the spot on the spreadsheet that promises me an extra hour and a half of freedom. If I pack a lunch and sign the box, my little girl can play for 90 more glorious minutes. So her name is written on every dotted line I can find those two preschool days a week.

I begin to walk away when I notice the Minnie Mouse bag still in my hands. “Whoops,” I mutter as I toss it into the laundry basket of liberty.

“That wouldn’t be good,” she says with a peppy step to the door. Our kids, especially our older girls, are like peas and carrots. They met years ago in ballet and since have spent many an elementary recess chasing boys and deciding whether my daughter’s “tom-boy” side can knit together with her daughter’s “fancy-girl” tendencies. (It’s the new lingo, “fancy.” Not preppy.) And this year, yes, they weave.

“Oh. No it wouldn’t.” I notice a thumbprint of black above her eyes. How embarrassing, I think. A true friend would tell. “Here, look at me.” I am waving at my own head. “You have something…” I don’t know how to finish. Black. There’s a huge, humiliating smear that looks like you’ve been working under your car. I don’t say this.

But she’s already forming her reply. She’s prepared. And she is so gracious to me. “It’s ashes,” she says while her ponytail flips in the same perfection of her toned legs.  

“Ohh! Yes.” How embarrassing indeed. Of course it’s ashes. Right. I need some as well. I’ll be using them to scrawl F-O-O-L on my face. “So what’s the process of, you know…” More waving like I’m shooing a bee.

“Well we went to church this morning.”
“OK, like a formal service?”
“Yeah, and they burn palms from last year.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s to get ready for the Lent season.”
“Lent. I want to do that.” What am I, a kindergartener?

I’ve been reading some excellent blogs about this ritual. It was never part of our Easter celebration where I grew up but the practice was introduced to me several years ago. When I cut out sweets. And scarcely survived to tell the story.

What to choose? How does one pick out of all the overwhelming selfishness that has taken root? To boot, what’s the point when I have more than enough viable reasons (ahem, excuses) to avoid all this discomfort?

Caffeine: Come on, no one would hold me hostage for needing help in the morning when train tracks are flying at heads and whining is the only means of communication.
Sweets: I’m closing my eyes and holding myself up because my knees have gone weak at the thought.
Facebook: I’m trying to write.
Cell phone/ texting: No. Veto.

I’m wanting to be noble about this decision. Authentic. What about me do I want to change?

Too angry: Is that even bad? I’m told it’s a secondary emotion that is like a little clue to a bigger riddle. So not anger. But how about the yelling at the kids when I reach boiling frustration at their indifference of the looming schedule? That moment when I rationalize it’s acceptable for me to treat them with disrespect because frankly, they are being disrespectful.
Hm, now we’re getting somewhere. Crap.

I blame my husband: He deserves it, you know. Unbeknownst to many of you, he is far from flawless. (I understand if you need a smidge of a second to process this.)
The unfortunate reality is I don’t really meet the bar either. (This we all know. No processing needed.) We are two wounded people committed to making a life together. It’s cause for a royal mess sometimes, but what would the next 46 days offer to our relationship if I saw him as my equal, and not my enemy? This is not how I saw this going.

Finding value in social media: Now it’s downright rough. Like, I can’t believe I’m admitting it here. Oh well, no one ever related to polished excellence. All in.
*sigh* I do. Guilty. Sometimes the afternoon is so quiet, my phone doesn’t beep and I catastrophize that everyone I know is secretly planning a party where I will not be invited. So I scroll Facebook. And then I’m suffocating in the hopeless aftermath of a panic attack I didn’t see coming. So I check Twitter. I grieve zero “likes” and offer something false the ability to tell me my worth.

Wayne Meisel writes:

“My stomach, my time and my attention have to be filled with things other than what I’m used to, other than habits that superficially satisfy.”

Lent may offer me the opportunity to welcome truer, richer parts of life. At the risk of sounding like a preschooler, I want that.

“Could I have gone through this self-discovery while eating chocolate and holding a beer? Sure, I suppose, but I never did. There is something about entering a spiritual practice that has power, even when it is undertaken at a very elementary level.” -Wayne Meisel, Huffington Post

It’s decided then. I’m doing it. But be advised, if you order a doughnut don’t come near me. I will fight you off, so I can fight for something more.