Third week of Advent: Joy

11
Dec

Welcome to the third week of Advent.

So far we’ve focused on Hope and Love.

This week’s focus is Joy.

Joy is not the same as happiness. There’s supposed to be a difference between the two, though it’s sometimes hard to put your finger on. The way I was taught, happiness was fleeting and joy was ever-present. I’m starting to wonder about those semantics, and whether the air of superiority about them is warrented.

Happiness isn’t a bad thing, but it’s short-lived. Joy is supposed to be a deeper down emotion, something we retain regardless of our circumstances. It has the reputation of being something cultivated over a long arc, something tapped into by decision and a squarely set jaw.

For example, no one would say they’re joyful when their house just burnt down (although no body would say they’re happy about it, either).

However, they might say they still have joy when they lose their job and have nothing else lined up, even though they aren’t happy about it.

So what’s the difference?

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JD Salinger is said to have written, “The fact is always obvious much too late, but the most singular difference between happiness and joy is that happiness is a solid while joy is a liquid.”

(He should have written “Riddle me this!” as his first phrase of that quote. Let me know when you sniff out what the heck he was saying. Thanks fer nuthin’, Sensei Salinger.)

Joy seems to be consistently connected to a spiritual state, a grounded connectedness to ourselves, those around us, and a higher spiritual purpose. No wonder it feels superior to happiness, which is rooted in things lining up the way we expected or a positive outcome we were hoping for. Happiness is almost a consumable good; joy is more durable.

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As I was working on an art journal page for this week in Advent, I was working in layers and trying to create texture that I thought I would then paint white, so the texture would be the focus rather than the color. The idea was to add white as a final layer, but it would still have undertones of darkness (Payne’s grey and quindoctraone magenta) and brightness (metallic gold).

I liked the way it looked, but it didn’t work the way I thought.

That’s similar to the whole happiness vs. joy thing.

This didn’t end up being right. But I started with the idea of having joy be informed by life experience and rising above temporary circumstance.

The second page I worked on, I let myself grab colors I like and just slap ’em on a page. I had received a mailing with the word JOY on it, so that was handy. When I put it all together it looked like this…

Take two. This didn’t end up being right either. It was too…happy. Bright and cheerful is fine but to me joy speaks of deeper colors.

Whoa! Bienvinedos a Miami! Here’s a soundtrack to match this art journal page:

It’s fun, it’s cheery, it’s upbeat. All good things, but not exactly descriptors of Joy.

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It all got me to thinking. Happy doesn’t get the respect it deserves. Happy is considered the temperamental cousin of Joy. She’s looked down on as being shallow and flighty, depending on getting the foam on her cappuccino j-u-s-t right, or adjusting her recliner to the optimum angle. She’s supposed to be nothing like Joy, who is the stable, responsible one, the even-keeled, thoughtful cousin who manages to keep her chin up in the worst of circumstances, when Happy high-tails it to the Bahamas. Why is joy seen to be so superior to happiness?

Here’s something I think comes into play. Many character qualities or personality traits have varying degrees, deeper levels of the thing. Let me explain and you see what you think.

Nice is a good quality. We want people to be nice. But nice is not the same as kind. Kind is a whole other thing, with generosity and consideration implied in it. You can force yourself to be nice temporarily, but being kind is something that comes from a different place in the heart.

Smart is a similar example. Who doesn’t want to be smart? Smart’s good. But wise is a couple levels deeper. I don’t know if you can be wise without being smart but I DO know you can be smart WITHOUT being wise.

Happiness is the first degree, the entry level, of Joy. Weeping may endure for the night but Joy is gonna come in the morning. Joy is the thing that you can retain in spite of crummy circumstances or hardships that make it hard to get out of bed. Maybe joy is one of the things that MAKES you get out of bed.

Maybe joy is what happens with happiness sinks down into your soul and makes a home there.

The third and final try at "Joy" ended up like this. I think it makes sense this way, which joy being a calm presence in the middle of the color and movement of everyday. Do you agree?

The third and final try at “Joy” ended up like this. I think it makes sense this way, with joy being a calmly present in the middle of the color and movement of everyday. Do you agree?

Whatever joy is, I hope you find more of it in the coming week.

Second week of Advent: Love

3
Dec

We are entering the second week of Advent. The focus for this week is Love.

The first week of Advent, the focus was on Hope.

That didn’t go so well for me. How’d it go for you?

I thought that trying to focus on hope this week would make me more full of hope. I thought maybe I’d see places that showed signs of hope.

Instead, it seemed to go the other way.

The good church-girl in me immediately went to the thought of Maybe that’s because Hope doesn’t come from inside us. We need to get our Hope from God and since this is Advent, and because it’s always the answer: Jesus.

But I’m crabbier than that now, a much more cantankerous, reluctant “person of faith” (if I even qualify for that anymore, which I know some people would say I don’t. But I’d be pretty happy to NOT be associated with that kind of faith).

Then, upon further reflection on last week, I remembered why being hopeful might have reason to be hard this week. It was my dad’s birthday, or would have been if he was still with us. He would be 70. It would also have been my parents anniversary.

These dates will not change from year to year, and they’ll always fall near the beginning of Advent. You’d think I wouldn’t be surprised by an undercurrent dragging down my spirits, and yet, I am surprised. Maybe there’s a lesson there for me, but I’m not seeing it yet.

Because this week’s Advent focus (I never know how to phrase that. We light a candle and call it the Hope candle or the Love candle. So do I call it this week’s Advent candle is Love? Maybe so but we’re not actually talking about the candle. See what I mean?? We’re going to call it a focus, unless you, Dear Reader, can point me to another way wordologizing it.) Now…where were we?

Oh yes…

Advent. Love.

Because this week’s Advent focus is Love, one the first things that comes to mind is to recount all the people we love, the things we love doing, the places that hold special meaning for us.

We probably also quickly go to romantic love. We can think on the intensity of love, the way it make us just a tiny bit crazy, and even the way it can begin with pure intentions and grow twisted in its desire to be reciprocated.

Love is one of our most universal connectors is love. It’s something we all feel, all desire. I think it’s even a force similar to gravity or energy. The powerful force of love causes us to sacrifice, emboldens us, spurs us to action.

Love, with a capital L, is that Divine force that unifies us and gently nudges us towards choosing generosity, selflessness, hospitality, honesty, empathy. It’s draw us together across our separations. It gives us the courage to set aside our pride and enter a relationship humbly.

This is the Love that comes to us as an infant.

This is the Love that reaches out to us before we even understand that concept.

This is the Love that enfolds us, comforts us, guides us.

This is the Love I’ll try to focus on this week.

First week of Advent: Hope

28
Nov

Yesterday was the beginning of Advent, the lead up to the big shindig: Christmas. Some people have been barely containing their excitement and now they can let it out, like this guy…

Most of us are probably a little more subdued about it.

Even so, Christmas receives a lot of attention. Wherever you may find yourself in relation to it, unless you plan to go on vacation to a very remote island, you’re going to find it hard to avoid for the next month.

Something that receives less attention, and which has been less commercialized is the season of Advent. Advent can be a beneficial time for all of us. It doesn’t have to even be connected to the sweet little 8lb baby Jesus laying in a manger wearing golden fleece diapers (did you see Talladega Nights like I did?), although the source of most of our modern Advent traditions come from a Christian practice.

Here’s the thing about Advent: it can be used as a way of resetting ourselves and zeroing the white balance (so to speak) on our priorities.

Each week has a different focus, and each one is something that most of humankind can get behind. Hope, love, joy, peace — these are at the heart of Advent, and I’d argue they’re at the heart of what it means to be human. Each of these values alone is powerful enough, but teamed together they’re transformative.

Or at least I hope so.

So, with the intention to post on each of the Advent themes, let’s turn our attention to hope.

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I think hope is a little like waiting for the mist to clear.

You can be walking along, your path one you’ve been on before, and then all of a sudden everything’s different. You can’t see the same vistas, and the air feels different, even smells different. You keep walking, just putting your foot down and trusting that the path hasn’t undergone the same shift. You know enough to be patient. You know enough to remember that this has happened before though it was so long ago it’s almost out of your memory.

You have reason to hope, even though the circumstances don’t communicate hopefulness.

Hope is a thing with feathers… ~Emily Dickinson

Sometimes the mist clears and you’re back on your merry way, the change temporary, merely a blip.

Other times, the mist clears and you find the landscape has morphed into something new and not entirely pleasant.

Ultimately the outcome doesn’t matter, because hope is the act of believing in the face of uncertainty. In some of the worst circumstances, it’s the possibility of change, the possibility of miracles, the possibility of a positive resolution that gives us strength to push forward. On the one hand, that has the potential to blind us to reality. Blind hope doesn’t always yield helpful perspective. But the presence of hope when things look dire, even just a glimmer, can give us just enough courage to get through to the next step…and then the next…and the next.

Hoarding Stories (and when to give them up)

23
Nov

I have a confession.

I am a hoarder.

I know that conjures up certain images, primarily (probably) from reality shows that depict houses with bedrooms so full of materials (papers hangers boxes clothes baskets goldfish) that you can’t even see the bed.

I’m not that kind of horder.

I am a hoarder of stories.

I keep them; I treasure them up; I preserve them and greedily I hold them all to myself.

I don’t even tell them to myself all that much; I just don’t want YOU to have them. Sounds reimicent of a toddler, doesn’t it? MINE! No no! A lot like this kid: https://youtu.be/MA11NlkIREA

I’m beginning to think that keeping the stories to myself comes from a place of fear. I fear that if I tell you the stories and they are as insignificant to you as they are significant to me, then I will have wasted that story. I’ll feel as though the value of it is somehow diminished by it not being as significant to someone else as it is to me.

When I keep stories to myself I’m coming from a place of fear because I worry that by sharing the stories I will encapsulate myself in those stories and you will think there’s nothing more. You’ll think that story is the sum of who I am. You’ll assume that one story, that one moment, is the definition of what that story represents, rather than being one snapshot of one significant moment. I’ll be held to it (or if not me, then the other subjects of the story) instead of it being seen as one point on the arc of a life development.

I find that I hoard stories of the people I love because if I share those you might think that you understand who the person was. Is a person only as much as the stories about them? Can a person’s life be summed up in a few stories, even a book full of stories?

We’ve all had those times when we have told someone the story of something significant to us. Then, months later, we have returned to the story only to have the other party tell us, “Oh, yeah, I remember you telling me about that.” As if one telling of the story can communicate all the nuances or all the significance of what that event meant. As if one telling of the story is a full rendering of that story.

We all know that isn’t true.

But I still want to keep many stories to myself. Maybe it comes from being in an age of over-sharing and online image grooming. The thought of telling an imperfect or unfinished story, especially about ourselves, just doesn’t fit into the curated, highlight reel we try to present, whether that’s knowingly or unknowingly. I think it’s refreshing to hear real stories of imperfect resilience and unfinished, unresolved showing up for our own lives.

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With that said, I’m getting ready to tell you a story.

I don’t know how it ends. Sometimes we have to be ok wth that. This is one of those times.

Here’s the thing you need to accept about this story: magic.

Photo credit: Morguefile @svklimkin

I don’t mean magic that requires spells or a cauldron, but simply magic in the sense of serendipity, beauty, or wonder. Magic.

See, I know of a magical parking lot.
You don’t believe me?

I know it’s unlikely, but it’s true.

I know of a magical parking lot where unplanned meetings between strategically placed people happen at opportune moments.

Of course, I didn’t know it was magical when I first found it. The first few times I parked there nothing happened. It may have been because I wasn’t paying attention or I wasn’t looking forward to anything. The first times I parked there it was just a parking lot and I was just parking a car. But when I discovered it was magical it was because I was different.

That’s all I’m going to tell you for now. You’ll have to check back in a few days for the whole story (you can subscribe to make it easier if you’d like). You’ve got enough to think about. Because besides asking you to accept magic, I’m going to ask you a question: if I share my stories, are you willing to consider sharing yours? Maybe not with me, but with someone?

See, I don’t think I’m the only one who hoards stories. I think there’re plenty of other people who do it too. You might be one of them.

It doesn’t matter if it reveals that we’re not perfect, or that we do t have everything figured out. It’s time to share those stories, to let them speak for themselves, to let them give voice to one perspective or one moment and have the sharing of it be enough.

Dreams and Memories

23
Oct

Do you take much stock in dreams? Do you remember your dreams?

My kids love to tell me about their dreams. They can remember their dreams in great detail, every weird random endless droning detail, and they don’t hesitate to share this all with me. Some people — including adults — like to tell others about their dreams, regardless of the subject matter. They just find dreams interesting.

I’m not that person.

…usually.

What I’ve discovered is that there are some dreams that DO interest me, usually ones that have an element of revelation in them. I’ve thought about whether God uses dreams, like the dream Joseph had about staying with Mary, the message delivered by an angel. Or the dream Jacob had about the stairway to heaven that angels were travelling on. These are the exceptions to regular dreams, the ones where you can’t find your car keys or you’re in a traffic jam. But even recently I heard a story about someone who was travelling internationally and received a message in a dream, one that told him to wake up. When he obeyed and woke up (in the middle of the night), he was able to stop a thief who was in the midst of stealing from his nightstand.

Spooky, huh?

When I was a student, I had a recurring dream that there was a party going on in my room while I was trying to study. This dream only happened when I was stressed and busy. It meant I would wake up tired, stressed and busy even after doing what supposed to replenish my body and mind.

In recent years, however, I remember very few of my dreams.

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My sister has had a few dreams about our dad since he passed away two years ago.

I’m pretty envious of her. I’ve only had two.

The thing with dreams of someone you love is that your brain knows you’re dreaming, even while you’re trying to shut it up so you can enjoy the unexpected opportunity to visit with him. You know it isn’t real, but you don’t want to know that, since dreams are supposed to be a break from reality, aren’t they? I mean, dreams are supposed to be places were we can do anything we want. Why burden them with a reality check when we’re supposed to be busy flying around or doing things we could never do in real life.

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I was taught to control my dreams. When I had a bad dream, my parents told me to make the scary thing (often a bear, now that I think of it) give me a present.

I’ve taken this and expanded on it for my kids. We’ve talked to them about turning the thing into a bubble and then pop it, turn it into a dandelion and blow it away, or even shrink it until it’s attempts to be scary become laughable.

What I haven’t tried is to focus on being able to make something happen in my dreams. I don’t think I have the courage to try and see my dad in my dreams. I want to preserve true memories I have of him, and I wonder if dreaming about him will introduce an un-real memory of him. I’ve already incorporated one of my sister’s dreams into my own memory banks, probably because the dream gave me comfort even as it was bittersweet.

I want to have real memories, and I want these to be separate from my dreams.

Lamenting and Loss

17
Jun

When bad things happen in the world, terrible things like the shooting at Pulse nightclub in Orlando, people tend to say that the world is broken or that we as humans are broken. I think they’re trying to put their finger on the fact that it feels so wrong. We feel pain, and the pain is alien — something that doesn’t belong. The idea goes that if grief was the way that things are supposed to be, it wouldn’t feel so terrible and bother us so much. It’s like when Oscar the Grouch from Sesame Street is happy when it rains, loves the stink of his garbage can, and enjoys trash that’s rotten or worn out. All of these things repulse us. If grief and loss and pain were the way things were designed to be, then wouldn’t we reasonably revel in those things?

But we don’t revel in those things, do we? Not most of us. We push back and resist, we call these things tragedies. We organize calls to action and we bring meals and we hold one another and we try to remember that this is not the norm.

We rebuild, we sign petitions, we rally for change. Then we slowly let down our guard and think the worst has past.

Then something else happens and we are forced to do it all over again.

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The thing is, there comes a time when we will all be faced with tragedy. If you haven’t faced it yet, you won’t get to avoid it forever. As much as I’d like to deny it, pain and loss are a part of the way things are. Distract yourself, numb yourself, busy yourself as much as you want in an attempt to pretend it isn’t true, but at some point the truth of pain will descend upon you.

In that time, it’s hard to know how to handle it, what to say or do, especially if the loss is close to you. It can be big or small, but if it feels big, then it is big. Brene Brown has something to say about that.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past decade, it’s that fear and scarcity immediately trigger comparison, and even pain and hurt are not immune to being assessed and ranked. My husband died and that grief is worse than your grief over a empty nest. I’m not allowed to feel disappointed about being passed over for promotion when my friend just found out that his wife has cancer. You’re feeling shame for forgetting your son school play? Please — that’s a first world problem; there are people dying of starvation every minute. The opposite of scarcity is not abundance; the opposite of scarcity is simply enough…When you practice empathy and compassion with someone, there is not less of these qualities to go around. There’s more. Love is the last thing we need to ration in this world…Hurt is hurt, and every time we honor our own struggle and the struggles of others by responding with empathy and compassion, the healing that results affects all of us.

– Brene Brown, Rising Strong

A time of grief is not a time to offer clichés, it’s not a time to try and find reasons why it’s going to turn out ok, it’s not a time to throw around Bible verses willy nilly. It’s a time to sit with your friend in the dust with ashes on your head, and weep alongside him/her. Lament is something we’ve nearly forgotten about in the American church, and in so doing, we’ve lost a way of accessing deep truths and emotions, which is one reason we have grown wary of them in our services or our decision-making. We don’t trust our emotions, in part because we’re unfamiliar with more of them than “happy” or “sad”. Lament allows us to acknowledge the burning injustices of the world, the seeming inactivity of God, and the pain that comes with grief.

This is what we can do with our friends (even if we don’t know them) who have experienced such loss last week in Orlando. We can do this when our friend’s mother discovers cancer in her lung. We can do it on the anniversary of someone’s death. We can do it upon the announcement of someone’s divorce. We can put our arms around them, be quiet until they’re ready to speak, lament with them, and offer love.

The surprising thing is that one day in the future (there’s no saying how far into the future; grief is a unpredictable and untamable, insisting on it’s own time table that circles back and forth with little warning), there will come a time when the beauty of the world catches your friend guard. The mist will roll in across the field, the moon will rise, and the fireflies will blink in random patterns just frequently enough to know they’re real. In that moment, something will shift inside and a changed version of an old feeling will return, something like wonder and blessing combined with a familiar lacing of sadness around the edges. And it will be just enough to know there is something else to be felt, that you’re still capable of something besides pain and numbness. It will be enough.

Ash Wednesday, Funerals, and Mortality

10
Feb

My church doesn’t mark Ash Wednesday. There was recently a brief mention of the season of Lent, but that was about it. It’s not too surprising — it wasn’t something we made much of back when I was a child, either.

I grew up associating Lent with Catholicism, and at that point Catholicism was most often portrayed as something our Protestant heritage had cast off, something we had rejected as a lesser form of faith, something that was all about ritual, obligation and accumulating points.

How arrogant.

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Did you ever see that movie “Wedding Crashers” with Owen Wilson and the big guy from Chicago Vince Vaugn?

OK I didn’t ever see that movie either — I heard it was really bawdy and that type of humor makes me uncomfortable. The clean gist of it is that those guys show up at weddings when they don’t even know the bride or the groom.

I feel little bit like I’d fit into a strange sequel to that premise because I just went to a funeral where I didn’t know the person who passed away. I can’t tell if that makes me a funeral crasher? It’s got to sound at least borderline crashed status.

I don’t even know the son of the woman who died.

Am I sounding creepy yet?

I went to the funeral because I know the daughter-in-law. We work together. I enjoyed her very much but I don’t know her all that well yet, not in an emotional way. She didn’t need me there. The son didn’t need me there. I asked myself more than once whether it was a good idea that I attend.

What I do know — or what I’m starting to know despite my resistance — is that funerals aren’t only about the person who passed away.

With any flex of the imagination we are shoved into picturing the conditions we will one day find ourselves, in one way or another depending on how far we want to run with the thought. It doesn’t take much to realize that this isn’t your last event of this kind. And once you’ve been the one to sit in that front row, trying to make sense of what’s happening around you in that moment, the sting of death is one you feel for a long time afterward.

The fact that the funeral took place the night before Ash Wednesday was not lost on me.

Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.

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In the bleak midwinter…

I held my own Ash Wednesday service today.

As I write that, I hear how wacky it sounds.

I read aloud (because I had the house to myself for a little while) from the Common Book of Prayer, knelt and prayed, and even played a couple songs on our piano, just because it seemed right.

Although I was alone, I knew I was also gathered with thousands of people across the world who were also acknowledging their mortality, their mistakes and shortcomings, and marking the beginning of the season of Lent and the coming of Easter. The solitude while joining a great tradition is what appealed to me, a great tradition going back through the ages. I want that history, that sense of heritage, even though I find myself wrestling with understanding the differing scholarly interpretations of what Jesus accomplished at Easter. And it’s probably time I expand my tradition base to include some practices that are unfamiliar to me.

One if those practices is the acknowledgement of our own mortality, something we often do a good job of ignoring. I think it’s important to put ourselves in the proper perspective sometimes, and Ash Wednesday is a good time for that.

Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.

Investing in Yourself

8
Jan

This week I invested in myself…twice.

Before I tell you about it, help me remember to tell you about the exciting thing happening next week. I’ll loop back to that at the end. Don’t let me forget, okay? Alright, nevermind. I know I’ll forget so I’ll just tell you now. You’ll want to check back in here in about a week ’cause I submitted a scary, vulnerable something for a thing and now that thing is going to be available and I want so much for you all to see this because the thing this thing is in is SO COOL and I think people will really get into it and possibly discover a whole new resource for finding beauty in the mundane and other people who acknowledge the pain and rawness of life, so be sure to come back next week and I’ll have links to share and it will be great!

Whew!

Okay, back to investing.

The first was that I took myself to an exercise class I know I enjoy. It’s snowing here in Minnesota, I overslept and there was an expoential degree of hurry-scurry as the kids and I tried to get out the door. It would have been really easy (REALLY) to drop them off and return home.

But I didn’t.

I put it in high gear, threw clean clothes and stuff for a shower into a bag (the world would thank me if they saw how sweaty I’d be if I didn’t shower after this class), got the kids where they needed to be, and arrived at my class (a Latin hip-hop-cardio-get-yer-groove-on-type of class, if you must know) just as they were starting. And even though it was inconvenient to prepare to get there and also be able to do the other things necessary to keep things running semi-smoothly at home, it was worth it.

I am worth it.

Minnesota in January

The other thing I did that was an investment in myself was to take a step of bravery and small financial investment.

My church is hosting an art festival and has invited people to submit their art work. This is the second year, and I didn’t make it to the first year to see what types of things are a part of this. I imagine my stuff will be very…grungy by comparison. Also there the factor that they’re saying if a piece is not three dimensional, it needs to be framed. Like in a frame. To hang on a wall. In public view.

This sounds like a stupid idea.

However stupid, once I heard about it, it was something I could not get out of my head, so I’ve been working on something for a few weeks now. The only thing that remained was to frame it and bring it to church.

Did y’all know that frames aren’t sized true? And that canvases can warp and only be somewhat true to the size they claim to be?

Yeah, me neither.

I wanted to do this on the cheap, and I discovered that I could find my own frame and then have a store prepare my canvas in said frame and make sure it’s all ready to go. Easy, right?

The only problem was that my version of cheap meant trying to find a frame at a thrift store, and with thrift stores you never know what you’re going to find and in my case, it was NOT finding a frame the correct size.

Okay, plan B. I’d have the store frame it. after all, I have a coupon for like 60% off, so how bad could it be?

When your budget was a frame from Salvation Army, it turns out that it could be pretty bad.

The frames were gorgeous, of course, but the price was not.

No problem, Let’s go to Plan C…or D…or whatever we’re on by this point. After making multiple phone calls, and visiting two different stores — one of which had my co-workers wishing me travelling mercies and asking me to send postcards — I got the open frame I needed but the shop I got it from couldn’t do the finishing in time for me to get it turned in on time.

I was feeling really stymied. It seemed like maybe I was pushing against forces that were aligned against me, as if I was being held from going any further with this action. There have been times in the past when this has happened and it ended up being a protection of sorts. It’s sometimes hard to tell if you’re just in a busy and having a hard time getting everything done or if you’re being redirected by some force greater than yourself.

As I realized what was going on, and became aware of how frenzied it was making me feel, I felt something shift inside my heart, and I knew I could let it go.

I didn’t have to participate in the art festival in order for my canvases to be a worthwhile endeavor.

No one else had to see them at all, or affirm them or me.

They were worth my time and energy, if only for my own enrichment and process. Painting and art journaling are worth my time and energy because they have been good for me, so good.

When I talked to my husband about it, about trying to save this money by using a thrift store frame and squeezing the canvas in it even though it didn’t really fit, he stopped me. He told me I should just buy the frames new. He told me I should have the store finish them for me. He supported this attempt to put something out into the world (he didn’t say that part in as many words) because he knew it was important to me.

I was worth it.

I was able to get it to the shop where they’d prepare it. That part did end up being economical. The investment of time, gas for my almost-on-empty tank, and energy was…let’s just say it was less than economical. But it didn’t matter if I was saving time or money any more. Because the expense was going towards a worthwhile cause — me.

What about you, friend? How are you allowing yourself to invest in yourself in this new year? What ways can you mindfully allow yourself the freedom to do what replenishes your soul?

Don’t forget to stop by the Facebook page next week, or check in here, to find out about the fun news I’ll have. There are links up on the right that should zip you over there, or you can subscribe and have posts delivered to your inbox — so efficient!

Celebrating Small Things

18
Sep

Original paint play by Me

When I hear the word “celebrate” it calls to mind special days, unusual accomplishments, and things generally outside the regular rhythm of the day to day. But this tends to be my default setting: to think too broadly. Bringing the scale back down and shifting focus to the more “mundane” requires a purposeful effort, but the rewards are many.

Just as a person recovers from a bad head cold and no longer rejoices in her ability to breathe freely through her nose, I am quick to expect things to go smoothly and my most difficult decision to be what to make for supper. I am too quick to forget my blessings, too unaware of my privilege. I don’t feel fear of violence when a police officer follows behind me. I don’t rejoice when I travel safely throughout my day without threat of bodily harm because I’m wearing a certain outfit. I don’t feel actively thankful when my husband consistently goes to his job and has a steady paycheck.

There are so many things to celebrate.

I don’t have to feel guilty about the set of circumstances that put me where I am, with access to resources and knowledge. I can, however, work to equip others with these same resources. And I can reframe my focus onto the every day things worth celebrating: friendship, adequate food and choices therein, timely and safe bus arrival at the end of a long day. These things are more regular occurrences, but not for everyone, and acknowledging their regularity will lead to a richer life and more grateful attitude of heart.

What mundane things are you grateful for today? What small things can you celebrate?

To find out other people’s take on “celebrate” which will probably be a pretty great pick-me-up, hop over to Kate’s website for Five Minute Friday and all the other people linking up today.

When fear threatens your Freedom

8
Sep

fear

control

the unknown

distrust and uncertainty

constrict your heart.

You lie awake in the night,

shutter your windows, bar the door and creep thru the house in darkness.

Fear throws threats around your head, wraps chains that trip and limit.

We are not made for this binding.

We are not made to be bound.

We are made for freedom.

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When the fear threatens to crush your heart and steal your joy,

Push back.

Drop your head,

Grit your teeth and barrel forward.

Charge ahead and refuse to be crushed by the weight of the “what-if’s” and doubts looming large.

Breath deep into your gut and let the air expand you — press out against the pressing in.

Close your eyes if you must.

Do it while your hands shake, but do it still.

Pretend you’re as confident as you wish you were, and soon you’ll forget you aren’t that confident. You’ll forget the racing thoughts, all that might happen, as you see the beauty of what does happen. Even when it doesn’t all go right, even when things are hard and the unknown remains unknown, or worse — your fears become reality. Even then, you are made for freedom.

Model it. Exemplify it. Pass it on to your children, your friends, your loves. Inspire it in others, this freedom of a person known and loved by the Author of knowledge and love.

You are known. You are loved. You can do this. Let’s say it to one another until we begin to believe it. We can do this.

Today was our first day of school, and this post came out of a lot of my nervousness about the start of school, which is complicated by health concerns for one of our kids. I have to really push back against operating out of fear. I hope we can help each other reject that fear and embrace the freedom we are meant for.

All of that to ask: how was your kids’ first day of school?