Joyful Moments

Have you ever done a vision board? It’s a tool to help map out dreams and/or goals. My friend first introduced the idea to me and another friend last January. We wanted to visualize our dreams and goals for 2010, and for us the endeavor involved prayer and the expected guidance of the Holy Spirit.

According to my 2010 vision board, I wanted to be creative and stylish, look good, be a great mom, get together with friends, write, be crafty, grow, spice things up in the bedroom, enjoy unguilty pleasures, get organized, travel, and more.

Looking at that board today, it’s so cluttered that very little stands out. It can barely contain everything I tried to cram on it. Of all I hoped the board would reflect about 2010, the thing it says most clearly is: There was entirely too much crap going on. (How apropos, although I didn’t notice it until after I did this year’s board.) 

I also realized that the old board held labels of what I thought I should be, or what I thought others expected of me, instead of what I hoped and dreamed for myself. This year I was determined that would not be the case. 

My theme for 2011 is “joyful moments.” Here’s the quote by Brene’ Brown that inspired it:

I think the beauty of twinkle lights is a perfect metaphor for joy.

Joy is not a constant.  It comes to us in moments – often ordinary moments.  Sometimes we miss out on the bursts of joy because we’re too busy chasing down the extraordinary moments.  Other times we’re so afraid of the dark that we don’t dare let ourselves enjoy the light.

A joyful life is not a floodlight of joy.  That would eventually become unbearable.

I believe a joyful life is made up of joyful moments gracefully strung together by trust, gratitude, and inspiration.

In that regard, I chose a black canvas to better display the bright words and colors I cut from the magazines. Each piece draws the eye away from the black. Frankly, the bright colors look better because of the black. That’s what I hope the joyful moments of 2011 will be like too. I also rejected words and images that caught my eye, and instead gravitated to the ones that caught my heart. The result:

• I want to see my children and my family blossom.
• I want to rebuild my ability to hope and expect good things of myself and in my life.
• I want to walk with bravery and be wise and open.
• I want to strive for strength in balance in what’s important.
• I want to appreciate all of who I am. 

Tiny Alien Imposter

When I was a kid, I couldn’t wait to be grown. I had lots of expectations:

• I’d be a rich and famous singer, actress and dancer.
• I’d be beautiful. I’d be slender and have big breasts and long hair.
• I wouldn’t be afraid of the dark anymore. I wouldn’t be afraid of anything.
• I’d have a handsome and dashing husband, and we’d live happily ever after.

Inside it's a tiny alien.

Last night I had an extremely difficult and painful conversation with my husband. I was surprised at how small I felt inside. Like that tiny alien on Men in Black II. Like a 5-year-old, dressed up in a 38-year-old body. A small imposter, very much afraid of the dark.

Do you remember that paralyzing childhood fear? I remember being terrified that something was under the bed or in the closet. The fear was so intense that I could not move–not even to avoid wetting the bed. It took all my willpower to cry out for my mother.  

I wonder if my maturity will ever match the years on the calendar. I wonder if anyone can see that I’m just a baby. Most days I try to hide it, but sometimes I want to be rightly seen. That way someone can let me be small and scared, and they’ll hold me and tell me it’ll be okay. And because I’m just a little one, I’ll believe it.

He Picked Me | January 12, 2010

Today is my husband’s birthday.

This morning as we held each other, I thought of him when I first met him: A gangly 16-year-old with a gumby haircut! We were in 12th grade chemistry together. He had a crush on my friend; I had a baby-daddy, so I didn’t think twice about him. When and how did that change? I never dreamed he would be my husband the first time I saw him. (That skinny kid was destined to be my husband … so strange!) Yet he began calling me his wife two months after we met, at least four years before we started dating.

I don’t know why he chose to love me. I mean, isn’t that weird? To choose someone and love them? Why me? What a devoted man–mine for more than half his life, mine before I was even his.

This morning when I thought of him, I thought of our life together. So many valleys, so many fights and struggles and tears. How far we’ve come! How far God has brought us! So much has changed, and so much is the same. That gangly 16-year-old is 37 today, not so gangly anymore. He’s still funny and goofy. No man has ever made me laugh the way he does–that has never changed. And he’s so good-looking! I love it when women look at him with admiration. Go ‘head, look! It feels so good to be secure in his love. I couldn’t always say that.

He’s a grown man, my husband, the father of my children–all of them, even those who do not physically share his DNA. So strange to see him grown up now, fathering. He constantly tells me how much he loves me, how beautiful I am, how talented I am. He makes me feel special, and I’m not sure I deserve that.

He’s mine. He picked me. Wow.

Happy birthday my love.

January 10, 2010: Re-Write

So I slacked my way through 2009 on my blog. What a slacker!

I started this thing so I’d write more. And I do love writing, too much to let it go. (At least that’s my claim–you wouldn’t know it by the dwindling  number of monthly entries.) So this year I’m embarking on my original lofty goal, the terrifying one that stirred me to become a blogger. You know, for practice.

I’m going to write a work of fiction! [Insert giggles, foot shuffles and a shy smile.]

The plan is to start a new blog dedicated solely to the story. Meantime I’ll continue to put up stuff on here from my everyday life … should you care to know. But really, I hope that by sharing this news here, I’ll make myself accountable to the general public.

That’s it. I am officially re-dedicated to write-ing!

December 9, 2009: A Pivotal Moment

I met with a friend today about a life group we’re leading together. We had some great conversation and a delicious dinner (she’s such an awesome host), and we worked out lots of details. After that, we just started talking about life.

As I shared with her some of my “pivotal moments” since being saved, I realized 2009 has been the Year of Facing My Crap. I’ve been seeing a counselor for about a year now, and it’s unearthed a lot of bones. Among other things, I’ve had to be honest with myself about my beliefs and attitudes toward men in general and my husband in particular, and about my own role in forming those beliefs. I didn’t like what got dredged up. I’ve shared a lot of these things in my blog this year.

I also recognized a small shift in myself. For one thing, I was able to see very easily that my husband is quite wonderful. When I remember who and what he was before Jesus Christ came into his life, I realize I have so very much for which to be grateful! I didn’t have to dig deep to find that gratitude; it was right there, waiting to be discovered like a jackpot under the thin layer of silver on a scratch ticket.

As I was riding home, I listened to the final message in Andy Stanley’s series about the life of Joseph called, “The Legend of Joe Jacobson.” When Joseph was presented with the perfect opportunity for revenge, he instead acknowledged that God had sent him ahead of his brothers–through separation, slavery, accusation and prison–to finally preserve their lives and millions of others’. Joseph was absolutely confident that God was with him and had been all along.

There have been many dark moments in my life, many good reasons to wield pain as a weapon. But as Andy Stanley put it, I can either look back, and relive the  circumstances and emotions that fuel vengeance, or I can look up and follow God’s lead. I can say to those who have hurt me, “Not only do I forgive you, but I’m going to give you what you don’t deserve–because that’s what people do who have received from God the very thing they didn’t deserve: forgiveness of sin and the promise of eternal life in his care.”

If I’m absolutely confident God is with me, how should I then behave? Because he is with me, and always has been. Even in the darkest moments when I was so overwhelmed by God’s silence that I overlooked his presence, and his promise to never leave. What a lovely and simple faith Joseph had. Could that kind of beautiful, persistent faith conclude my own story?

Come on 2010!

July 12, 2009

Jesus said if you deny him before men, he’ll deny you before his Father.

I was thinking today about what it means to deny Jesus before men. My first response was, “I’ve never done that. I’ll never do that.”

But then I thought about every time I’ve had the opportunity to speak on Jesus’ behalf–to introduce him into the conversation. Not a conversation about faith or about religion or about politics, but just an ordinary conversation.

So let’s say there’s a way to succinctly and relevantly bring up the gospel in an ordinary conversation. And I’m not talking about one of those awkward cheesy segueways. “Speaking of minivans, did you know Jesus loves you?”

No, I mean there’s a real-deal opportunity. I’m fully aware of it. And I don’t take it. Did I just deny him?

July 4, 2009

Do you ever just get sick of the fluff?

Aren’t you sick of Christianese?

Don’t you cringe when people “talk the talk”?

Aren’t you fed up with church as usual?

What does it look like to really follow Christ? Really follow Him?

Did He really die so we could be comfortable?

Did He suffer so we could raise our kids in a nice, safe neighborhood?

Do we go to church to get our varied needs met, or do we go there to find Jesus?

Do we really believe that His church is the hope of the world? That He is freedom?

What does a “prayer of salvation” really accomplish?

Why is worship a list of songs?

What can I do to further the cause of Christ in my life, and in the community of believers with whom I live?

June 20, 2009

What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore–
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over–
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
–A Dream Deferred by Langston Hughes

That night after I watched the horrible movie (and I raged at my husband as the representative of all Men), I laid in bed and sobbed until I couldn’t breathe through my nose. While he drifted off into oblivious sleep, I considered.

That bitter, unforgiving itchbay I see in the mirror is only part of the picture. What I really am is a ball of pain, wrapped in multiple layers of self-preservation, and finished with an outer shell of spikes, rusty nails and barbed wire. Sort of like a Ferrero Rocher chocolate, except a little bigger and slightly less delicious.

I sat up in bed, partly so I could breathe again, but mostly to talk with Jesus. I said something like, “This is what I am, but it’s not what I want to be. It’s so deeply entrenched and so much a part of my DNA that I don’t know how to change. What am I supposed to do with all this pain? What can you do with me?”

Then I remembered a dream I used to have: There was an abstinence ministry in my heart. I dreamt of helping, loving, encouraging girls and young women, talking to them about abstinence, helping them live it out. I was willing to let my pain be like manure: Stinky, yes. But fertilizer for something much better. Funk with a purpose.

Then the weeds came. “You’re not even good at talking to people.” “Why would a teenager listen to you?” “What if it hurts?” “Who has time?” “What if it fails?” I was afraid, so instead of a garden, the pain became a landfill. The dream got buried under a bunch of distractions and life and crapola. Eventually and so slowly that I didn’t notice, it disappeared from sight. But it still stunk, except it stunk for no good reason.

Okay, I’m scared! I think I’m more scared now than I was before. Those same weeds are there, but they look more like trees now.

There’s the first step. It’s a doozy! Not sure I want to climb yet. Just … gimme a sec to mentally prepare.

June 11, 2009

My life so far hasn’t prepared me for God’s loving nature, but there’s more–the other realization that came through counseling. This other truth has shaken my faith (though not in the way you might think). It’s caused me to avoid God altogether for the past two weeks.

About twice or three times a year I’ll have a “moment” where it feels as if God has led me up a high mountain and right up to the edge of a cliff. I’ll look down and all I’ll see is clouds far below me. I’m like, “Whoa God! [Nervous chuckle.] That’s … that’s really high! Okay well, it’s been fun, I’m gonna turn around and go home now!” And he’s like, “No no. I want you to jump.”

In my heart, I know if I jumped, I’d be okay. I might not be comfortable and I might not be entirely safe. But I’d be okay.

Then I start thinking of what might happen on the way down.

• What if no one catches me?
• Why do I have to jump? No one else is jumping!
• I’ll be the only one falling with no one to help me … again.
• How can I take care of myself, control my life, if I’m falling and can’t grip anything?
• Which of my beloved trinkets would fall out of my pockets?
• How much money and how many of my prized possessions would fall out of my purse?
• Who would I be without those things?
• I don’t know that strange woman who’s not tied to all her stuff; what if she’s nothing like me?
• I may not like who I am. But at least I’m predictable. Predictable is safe.

So I say, “Wait, what? That’s too high! That’s too dangerous! That’s too much.” And I back away from the edge and head home. As I walk, I feel him walking beside me, but I can’t look at him. I keep my eyes on my feet and hunch my shoulders, and I feel like crap. But I keep walking until I’m safely home.

Some of me chalks this “vision” up to my legalistic nature, and that tendency may play a part. But on the whole, I know what God’s asking of me is in line with the Bible. I mean, knowing what Jesus said, and what Paul and others later explained, how can I believe God isn’t more dangerous and terrifying than we’ve made him out to be? Everyone says he’s loving and tender and gentle–and he is. But he’s more than that. He’s more passionate than that, wilder than that. This has serious implications!

In summary:

• I don’t believe I’m acceptable “as is,” that I don’t have to work to earn his attention or approval. I don’t believe it’s possible to live the way I’m living (which is not bad by most standards) and still be pleasing to him.
• I do believe his expectations of me are higher than people say they are. I believe they’re higher than I’d like them to be. I believe his calling is far more dangerous and outlandish than I’d like it to be. I do believe he expects me to give up my life and all I hold dear before he will take me seriously. I do believe the purpose of my life will never be fulfilled if I don’t let it all go and never look back.

I know some of  what I believe is distorted, twisted out of context. But I also know that much of it isn’t.

This is my crisis of faith. It’s not the “Is God real?” kind, because I know he is. Instead, it’s the kind where I look in the mirror and realize (a) I don’t trust God to love me and not hurt me; and (b) I’ve been lying to myself about who he is and how a relationship with him works. These are hard truths for a professing Christian to face.

So now that the truth is on the table; now that I’ve acknowledged my unbelief; now that the lies are no longer an option … which path will I take?

June 8, 2009

After a serious outburst of anger last Christmas, I decided to see a counselor. Though I felt (and still feel) the anger itself was justifiable, the wild, edge-of-insane intensity of it scared me. 

In the beginning, I left each session feeling like I’d gone through a blender. There was a lot of picking scabs off forgotten wounds. They would hurt and bleed almost as much as they had when they’d first been inflicted. I’d walk out of the office and cry in my car. Eventually I just went ahead and cried in the office, where I had ready access to tissue. Either way, I’d spend a day or two afterwards, reliving and rehashing, and thinking none of this could be healthy. Uncovering the pain seemed to be making things worse, not better.

Soon I began to connect the dots between traumatic events. The recurring theme in my life was rejection; as the theme recycled itself in all my significant relationships, a pattern of thoughts and resulting behaviors emerged.

Eventually I began to see what was hidden behind all my feelings and all my actions. My counselor would ask what I thought or believed about a situation, and I’d answer honestly. But the honest answers coming out of my mouth were not the beliefs I publicly profess. They were secret beliefs I’d never acknowledged–not openly, and often not even consciously. It turns out those hidden beliefs rule me.

It’s strange how suddenly and unexpectedly so much became so clear. Among the realizations was that I’ve never had a healthy, loving relationship. I used to trust; not anymore. I’ve never experienced fidelity. I’ve never known acceptance without contingency. I’m surprisingly, vehemently angry about it. That anger has been smoldering beneath the surface so long that it was just part of me, like my limbs or my brown skin. Except that sometimes it would flare up and surprise me.

So how could my life so far have prepared me for the God who is supposed to be a loving father, husband and friend? One who accepts me as I am and loves me with no strings attached? One who won’t hurt me or use me, or ignore me until I go away?

I don’t believe it.

I love God so much! But I don’t entirely trust him. And how can he love me when I feel this way? I don’t know how to hope or anticipate or believe my life can be anything but what it’s always been.