.on sweet-ness and running for President.

getty images

I was told by someone today that I was "too sweet to run for President of the United States".  Word for word.

Some people might be all, "Thank you".

Not this girl.

I bristled real quick.  Like, if I hadn't literally bit my tongue, my immediate response would've come really close to *snap snap snap* "Why is that? Please enlighten me?" aka You best not patronize, someone hand me a campaign poster.

I'm sure she meant well.  I'm sure it was meant as a compliment.  I'm sure she meant nothing by it.

But I got all up in arms just the same.  Because in Sabrina ears, all I heard was, "You couldn't possibly..."

I also just don't like being told what I can and cannot do.  That part of me hasn't grown up yet, Lord help me.

Here's the thing:

I cannot be trusted with a comment like that.

Someone could be paying me a genuine compliment and I would find a way to a.) make it an insult or b.) over-analyze it to death asking myself, "What did they mean by that? Why did they say it that way? Were they even talking to me? Whhaaa".  Which, I know, is nearly pathological.

I also work really hard to pretend I am not sensitive.  I've been fooling myself about this for years and have come quite close to being convinced.  But when someone says something that strikes a negative chord, I've trained myself to get mad rather than cry about it.  Because some variation of "Grab your pitchforks!" sounds better than my ugly cry.
The problem is that apparently the absence of tears does not mean nothing gets to you. And anger points to sensitivity too.
Dammit.

I'm still learning to accept this.  "Sensitive" is not a word most of us like to hear.  For some reason it translates as weak, on the edge, fragile...and that offends me.  But you know?  I really need to get over myself.

Because in that moment today I also realized what a product of my generation and culture I am.

We grow up being told that we can do anything with our lives, be anything we want to be, and if anyone tells you otherwise "THEY ARE WRONG".
My parents never said any of these words to me.  They knew all people have limitations and that even though I was their daughter, I was also "people".
But some of my teachers told me so, along with movies, TV shows, magazines, books....they told me that I could do it all.
The problem with that is subsequently "doing and being anything" became a sort of expectation.
If I can't do it all then, somehow, I am a failure. As a person, as a woman.

As a result, I've been known to chase my tail in pursuit of the "anything".

The truth is that apart from an angelic visitation of Biblical proportions, I will never be President of the United States.  Namely because I'm indecisive and I like slow mornings and driving my own car too much.  And I just wouldn't be good at it.  It's ok.

If we're honest with ourselves (I'm probably going to offend someone here), what we've been told is a lie and it has not done us many favors.  We can't do everything or be anything we want to be.  We can work hard, we can try new things, but we will not be good at all of it and we will *gasp* fail.

This is also a relief.

"Doing it all" sounds a lot like stress and pressure and not eating what I want.  It sounds a lot like "work for 60 hours a week, have a 'hot' bod, find a 'hot' husband, be a 'hot' (and good) wife, be a 'hot' (and good) mom, have good kids with good haircuts who make me look good at church, be a CEO, head up the PTO, start a grassroots organization, market it on Instagram during my 'hot' yoga session, which is for my health, but also so I can keep bending over backwards to get the good shot with the good light that compliments my staged, handmade products for said organization that are, of course, not-for-profit."

These are not all bad things.
But no thanks.

I don't like being told what I can and cannot do by anybody.  But maybe it's time I start listening more than bristling because, no, I can't do it all.  I don't have to.  I was not made to.  This is not who I am.  phew.

I'll just go put away the pitchforks and campaign signs and keep on stumbling.
Sweetly...

"There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit distributes them.  There are different kinds of service, but the same Lord.  There are different kinds of working, but in all of them and in everyone, it is the same God at work."  |1 Corinthians 12:4-6|

.the weary world rejoicing.

there is no snow on the ground here this day after Christmas.

And there's something about snow that softens the world and the back-to-reality blow of the coming year of activity. 

But despite the lack of a white blanket under my feet muffling the noise, I've stolen away for some quiet.

As I've grown older, this day after Christmas has become more sacred to me than the 25th of the last month in the calendar year.

Some would gasp at the thought. 

Christmas Day is a holy day. One that we hold in our hearts alongside family and friends. We remember the baby born into nothing. The same nothingness that we found ourselves in until He took his first breath in this dark and long-weary world.

We celebrate in gathering at our tables and bowing our heads. In exchanging gifts and smiles while raising a glass. It is as it should be. 

But in this, the day after--our hearts are quieted. The wrapping paper lies open and the dishes are piled high. Yesterday's steaming mugs are scattered and the laughter has faded.

So I've got my feet tucked under me and my dog beside me and I've been thinking on another Christmas past and all of its fullness.

But the best part?

The clock struck midnight into December 26th. And we still find ourselves rejoicing. 

This day after marks the beginning of the end of despair and death. It is this day we know that the Love who came for us is Immanuel who does not flee after a day set apart on the calendar. 

 He has found us in the darkness of a world without the dawn of a Christmas morning and has made it so we may never know it again. This is where the remembering begins. And in remembering Him, who we were before fades with another Christmas Day. 

With every Christmas past we are left with nothing but an ever-present Savior.

And so we are left with everything.

"A Child in a foul stable,
Where the beasts feed and foam;
Only where He was homeless
Are you and I at home;
We have hands that fashion and heads that know,
But our hearts we lost - how long ago!
In a place no chart nor ship can show
Under the sky's dome.

This world is wild as an old wives' tale,
And strange the plain things are,
The earth is enough and the air is enough
For our wonder and our war;
But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings
And our peace is put in impossible things
Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings
Round an incredible star.

To an open house in the evening
Home shall men come,
To an older place than Eden
And a taller town than Rome.
To the end of the way of the wandering star,
To the things that cannot be and that are,
To the place where God was homeless
And all men are at home."

-GK Chesterton

 

 

:when you'd like to have had your life together by about 8:07am...yesterday:

I have this lingering fear of getting it wrong. 

I also don't like to be wrong. Because, pride.

And this is one nearly impossible combination.

It's been this way for what seems like forever, but the weight of it became heavier as a girl stumbling her way through her teens in off-brands and braces and I've carried it in varying degrees ever since. 

I've spent long days and nights talking to myself about this. Although, David was more poetic about it millions of hours ago:

"Why are you cast down, o my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me?..." {Psalm 42:5}

When I've used these words of his to talk to the person in this skin, many of the answers that have echoed back to me have not been specific. It's mostly just been, "you're afraid. Like, all the time."

It's hard to get honest with people about that fact because the inclination tends to be to make sure others think you're alright.  Whether it's for your own sake or just so that they won't come up to you with some variation of "why the long face?". Being honest about fear and fear of failing and fear that maybe we've gone down the wrong road is a deeper conversation that better lends itself to about 3am when inhibitions are lowered and the sun hasn't risen enough to shed light on our solemn faces. And everybody's afraid of something, so why make it a thing?

Right? Yes? 

We've gotten good at avoiding these conversations in the daylight. There's much we can put our minds and hands to so that when others take a curious glance, they would see just enough to say "they're ok". We'll find a good angle, take a photograph, and share it on the .com. We'll take up a cause, run with it, and hide behind it too. Or maybe you'd find us filling our planners with plans for today, tomorrow, and 2 months out so that we can look at them and know we're wanted. Somewhere. 

In distracting ourselves, we have momentary relief from the whirlwind in our minds that always seems to beg the question, "...but what if I'm wrong and this is all wrong and I should be there instead of here?" It's become the self-medication that we most often reach for and there's enough for every dose we require and plenty to go around. 

It's also a thief, almost as much as fear is.

Distraction invades all of the space we've been given to acknowledge these questions and fears of ours. It also prevents us from taking them to others and laying them before our God, all while paving the way for unresolved pretense. 

In a society where pretense reigns supreme, whether we know it or not, the desire for authenticity is inherent in us. We are most ourselves during the dinner with friends sans lipstick and hairspray, sitting on the porch steps with our spouse with a pot of coffee and no place to be, or when we're in a place safe enough to say "I am not ok and actually, scared shitless". We are most ourselves in those moments when we can forget ourselves and our manners and say aloud the things we say to our souls at 3am. 

I've begun to realize that fear is not the problem. Fear has the ability to motivate us and send us running back to what we may have long-forgotten about, namely who our God is. And who He has always been for us, even while we've been headed for the hills. 

The culprit is all of the ways we duck-and-cover. It's exhausting and at the end of the day, we're just left with our pride and momentary ways of dealing with what will still be there waiting for us tomorrow.

Let's save ourselves the aggravation. And then maybe have some breakfast for dinner.

.adventures in sitting.

This weekend I have done more sitting than in recent memory.

Sitting alone.
Outdoors.
Indoors.
In a hammock.
Under an arbor
On a back porch

With nothing but a glass or mug of something bittersweet in one hand paired with like memories in the other.

It's easy to sit with your work, with your laptop, with your to-do list, with your phone, with your foot bobbing up and down.  But to sit still, with no point and nowhere to be, without clinging to the modern day definition of productivity.  That is a feat.

I find sitting adventurous simply because of how little I take part in it.  And it can be more frightening than scaling a mountain because of the space it makes.  Space that can be inhabited by recollections or resistance to whatever may be around the corner. By prayer and the words we never took the time to say to ourselves or to someone who's no longer around to hear them. Here we can take stock of the hours we've spent that tick away faster than when we were kids with sticky fingers and nothing but time.

I let my phone die this weekend more than once.  And the feeling was one close to relief when the time of day on the homescreen dropped out of sight and my ringtone and the wi-fi couldn't find me.

It's amazing the amount of time I've put into being perceived in just the right light.  How many of those minutes turned to hours on social media, in the workplace, among newly made acquaintances, all spent painting a canvas with a variety of different brushes and strokes so that it would come forth as a well-rounded, educated, enlightened, and informed piece that appeals to the eye and offends no one.

Sitting doesn't allow for this.  And when your days mainly consist of creating something for everyone, it's hard to make time for that which requires nothing of you but your restless self.  It's sacred space really.  Because how hard is it for us to believe that we're worth just as much when immobile as we are when we're handing a thirsty child on the other side of the world a cup of cold water?  And all because we were called "good" a long time ago by the God who meets us in that terrifyingly unproductive space that is so foreign.

We can sit and rest in this.  Bare-faced in a hammock somewhere where our habitual, hurried ways won't find us.

.today I hid behind a sass-mouth coffee mug and other things that won't talk to me.

This has been one of those weeks that has had a lot of like-whoas. And one too many unexpect-eds.

Do you ever feel like you're half a phone call/text/Facebook post away from laying down in the middle of your living room floor (or whatever room you so choose) with a "NOPE" sign on your forehead, the small print stating, "Sorry for the inconvenience, but I gave up on this week. Check back on Monday."

Sometimes, you can have faith, hope, and love, but your brain's not really keeping up with these things at the moment, and this is just how it is.

Between two dear friends of mine making unexpected trips to the hospital, running out of gas on the freeway by IKEA (don't ask if it was open because it wasn't) and almost every other word I've glanced at being either a hand raised or a fist lifted at the law of the land, there's a lot that could be said about the last week.  But I won't say it.  Because I'm not really sure what to say.  And I'd rather hide behind a pile of books and a sass-mouth mug.

It's the truth you know, when I feel overwhelmed, my tendency is to hide behind inanimate objects and think too much.  For better or for worse.  And that fact is never more apparent than during weeks like this.

Control can be an interesting thing.  It's kind of a tease because usually we think we have it in sight, and it won't turn its back or leave us high and dry, but mostly it's just an allusion and confuses us, kind of like a 7th grade crush who we were sure would take us to the dance. But didn't. Because that was just his way.

So why is it that we (or "I"...am I alone in this?) are shocked over and over again by the fact that God, that people, that life, won't just come to our senses?

I do not know.

And there's plenty more where that came from.

One thing's for certain is that we live and breathe in a time of uncertainty.  But isn't this really how it's always been?  From hospital visits to running out of gas to politics to opinions to fads to whatever Buzzfeed's going to be writing about tomorrow, and so on and so forth.

Among all the uncertainty, and at times chaos, there will always be a lot to learn.  

And right alongside it comes that many more opportunities to listen.  

Shame on us if we have forgotten this.

Beneath all of it--perhaps buried is a better term--there is Truth that can be stood upon.  

Maybe digging it up means getting up off the living room floor and grabbing the Folgers/Intelligentsia/Pour-over/fancy-brewing-whatever along with two sass-mouthed mugs, and losing sleep in order to have some late-night conversations about those things that are probably keeping us up at night anyway.

I'm not willing to give up a full 8-hours over anything less.

.on Swedish scissors and minding my own business.

I pinned a pair of Swedish scissors to one of my Pinterest boards yesterday.

I can't say I even knew there was such a thing. Until yesterday. When I pinned it. Because they were pretty. And Swedish.

There's probably some deep psychological explanation as to why I feel the need for Swedish scissors when they do the same thing as American scissors. (American scissors? Sure.)

All I know is that when I pinned them, I wanted them. 

I want a lot of things.

Today was one of those days, when most of the day was spent griping about this and complaining about that. A grown-up tantrum is probably a better way to put it. And these can be uglier than tantrums that littles throw, starting with the fact that we've got a broader vocabulary and some 4 letter words and we can't chalk it up to our 4-year old issues. 

Because that was like 20 years ago.

Most of this tantrum was regarding things I don't have, but really want. Things I feel like I've been waiting a little too long for, things that haven't changed, relationships that have yet to heal...and at one point I definitely was all, "God, really? Why are you so mean to me?!"

Dignified, I know.

One thing I've realized is that things get really ugly when I stop minding my own business. It's when I start looking around and seeing other people's "Swedish scissors" when I'm stuck with boring old Fiskars from the 5th grade that aren't even hipster or vintage, just old Fiskars, maybe with some dried glue on them. Nobody wants to be holding Fiskars when the Swedish Scissors are at the next table over. 

Somewhere between pinning scissors and calling God a big meanie I started thinking about the Apostle Paul and his contented ways.

"...for

 I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. 

I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want." Philippians 4:11-12

What I gather from this is that Paul stopped looking around, kept his eyes on his God, and was a little too busy minding his own to be comparing himself to his neighbor, brother, sister, prison-mate, or what have you. He was on to something. He still is, friends.

This passage came to mind today and it was a very timely word heard over my inner kicking and screaming.

This doesn't mean that my list of desires has gotten any shorter. There are things these hearts of ours want that are good and right and beautiful. One thing that's fabulous about God's word is that it reminds us to put those things in their rightful place which is right back in those hands of His that tend to these hearts of ours if we'd only look at Him and remember it. Paul knew this. We know it too. 

And we don't even have to trade in our Fiskars.

.homeward.

we look for rest in circumstance.
we look for rest in ability.

but You, our friend.
we really just want to be with You.

but we can't comprehend it.
this thing called Eternity.
and we can hardly comprehend love unconditional.
and so we ask, while we are here, is there really no rest for the weary?

we catch glimpses in our mind's eye,
of You with us, as promised,
and in all that reminds us of Home,

a solitary spot in the back of the house
the floorboards that creak under our feet,
newspaper ink on our hands,
kin around our table,
and the way that our loved one holds their cup of coffee.

You make Your presence known to us,
in that way You tend to do,
some of which we only see upon reflection.

in laugh lines
groggy-eyes
the clink of glasses
wooden spoons in hand
laughter down the hallway

we see in silhouettes only,
a bit about where we are headed,
and still You are so much more.

the sun on our backs is You pushing us forward,
homeward,
nearer to our rest.

Until then, we are intent on finding You here, in the lowliest of places,
content to see You in fragments only.

We'll find You in the frames above the mantel,
in the words on a dog-eared page,
in our family names,
when the dishes are piled high in the sink,
during the long goodbye's at the back door.

And You will meet us there as well, right where we are.