Confession

I’m divulging a few secrets today.  And they aren’t pretty, just so you know. 

I’ve been sitting in my reading room this morning with a steaming cup of hot tea, thinking.  About brokenness, redemption, healing. 

And if I’m really honest, sometimes I fear people look at my life and think it’s something it isn’t.  They see fun status updates, exotic travel photos, enthusiastic blog posts about living a beautiful life…and it is beautiful, no doubt about that.  I’m an always glass-half-full kind of girl.  I just am.

However.

It’s a choice.  Being this way, choosing to live and see the world this way, in no way means life is perfect or even a smidgen better than the next guy.  It’s about intentional perspective.  Period. 

In fact, I’ll prove it to you.

Among my absolute closest group of friends made up of a dozen or so people, some of our most shaping life experiences include:

• Sexual abuse and molestation.
• Rape, multiple cases.
• Bulimia.  Anorexia.  Food addiction in general.
• Adultery.
• Pornography addiction.
• Abortion.
• Divorce.
• Depression.
• Struggles with sexual orientation.
• STD’s
• Attempted suicide.
• Shame. Humiliation. Rejection. Fear. Judgment. Jealousy. Hatred.

This list is in no way comprehensive.  I could go on for days.  And when I say we’ve struggled with these things, I don’t mean indirectly.  I don’t mean it happened to our parents or siblings or someone close to us.  I mean we have personally lived thru these things, done these things, struggled with them, most of us still struggling on some level.  I alone can check off almost half the points on this list.  (Now there’s a real confession for ya! Go ahead and read it again and try to guess... ;-)

And let me be clear.  When I say ‘still struggling’ I don’t mean we aren’t free from it or haven’t overcome, but there will likely always be residue.  It’s what makes us human.  It’s what causes complete and total dependency on Jesus.  And we need that.

Back to me being an eternal optimist…when I look at the faces and stories that make up my life, I don’t see these unspeakable horrible things.  I see brokenness, humility, hope, redemption, honesty, truth.  And because we’ve alldealt with something, because each and every one of us would be nothing without Him, we’re all connected.  We’re all broken.  We’re all tainted human whether we like it or not.  Not one of us has a single stone to throw.  Not one person.  Not one stone.

And that my friends, is beautiful.  That’s reason to kick up your heals, relax, and savor every simple moment Life offers you because in my opinion, that’s the point.

Concerning my beautiful life?  Oh, it is, I promise it is.  My glass is always half full.  But.Not a single ounce more than yours.  It’s all about intentional perspective, and my hope is that you choose to see it for the beautiful, messy, brilliant, jacked-up, exhilarating ride that it is, both desperately broken and fiercely redeemed.  If you don’t, you’ll seriously miss out…and thatwould be a tragedy.

(I have photos of red berries from literally all over the world.  This one happens to be from my most recent trip to England's Lake District.  Everywhere I go, they're there, usually in the very moment I most need to see them, a constant reminder of all the above...brokenness, beauty...Redemption's intimate pursuit of each of us.)

What's your perspective?  Glass-half-full?  Or do you struggle with it a bit?

Song

You know how sometimes you hear a song for the very first time and it stops you in your tracks??  That happened to me yesterday.  Sitting in a parking lot this came on, and I couldn't get out of my car.  I had to sit and listen until it was over.  And then I had to sit and think about it for a bit.  

I love it for a thousand different reasons I won't try to explain at the moment, perhaps someday...  I know some would cry heresy or sacrilege or whatever.  All I'll say is I love it. 

Heart Like Mine (Miranda Lambert)

I ain’t the kind you take home to mama
I ain’t the kind to wear no ring
Somehow I always get stronger
When I’m on my second drink

Even though I hate to admit it
Sometimes I smoke cigarettes
Christian folks say I should quit it
I just smile and say “God bless”

‘Cause I heard Jesus, He drank wine
And I bet we’d get along just fine
He could calm a storm and heal the blind
And I bet He’d understand a heart like mine

Daddy cried when he saw my tattoo
Said he’d love me anyway
My brother got the brains of the family
So I thought I’d learn to sing

‘Cause I heard Jesus, He drank wine
And I bet we’d get along just fine
He could calm a storm and heal the blind
And I bet He’d understand a heart like mine

I’ll fly away
From it all one day
I’ll fly away

These are the days that I will remember
When my name’s called on the roll
He’ll meet me with two long-stemmed glasses
Make a toast to me coming home

‘Cause I heard Jesus, He drank wine
And I bet we’d get along just fine
He could calm a storm and heal the blind
And I bet He’d understand a heart like mine

Oh, yes He would

What do you think?  Sacrilege?  Love at first chorus?  Or somewhere in between?

Truth

Let's just subtitle this post...things Christine said to me today.  

The thing you have to understand about her is that she is completely and totally disarming.  Sometimes she thinks it's a bad thing, but it isn't.  It's a wonderful thing. Because it gives her the amazing ability to say things, really hard to say kinds-of-things directly to your face. And all at once you know without question she's right, but rather than getting angry or defensive, you giggle. Because it's Christine.  She's the most gentle and loving person on the planet so it's absolutely impossible to take any kind of offense.  Instead you just giggle at the obviousness of the truth she points out and the fact that you haven't seen it, resigning immediately to fully embrace whatever she suggests.  Most of the time before she's even suggested it...

And for the record, I do not possess this same ability.  And let's just leave that at that.

So, back to things Christine said to me today.  Oh, by the way, I was processing out loud.  Girl stuff. Emotions and such.  

1.) I know you're an extremist.  But you can't be with this.  Just don't.  (Ugh.  Fine.)

2.) I want you to stop using the word 'safe'.  That's a big deal for you.  Don't say it anymore. (regarding me not feeling safe in a relationship--the one element I refuse to compromise on--well, until she says I have to)

3.) You just need to get over that. (Ugh.  Fine again.)  

4.) Expectations.  Expectations are always the problem.  (in regard to me having them)

5.) You can't look at it that way. (but that's how I want to look at it..)

6.)  This isn't about you.  It's never about you.  Stop thinking it is.  It isn't.  (but it hurts my feelings...)  One more time.  It's not about you.

7.) Withdrawing from this is unacceptable.  I won't let you do that.(my solution, immediately shot down)

8.) This makes me feel icky.  I just feel icky.  We can't talk about it anymore.  (effectively ending the conversation in a perfectly non-threatening, Christine kind of way)

9.)  I'm glad we had this conversation.  (You always need to hear those words when you've bared the ugliness of your heart.  You just do.  It's important.)

I felt completely exposed and vulnerable, but couldn't stop giggling the entire conversation.  And I walked away feeling understood, resolved, and at peace...but also challenged and provoked to growth.  

*sigh*  It's her gift, and one of the many, many things I adore about her.  

Do you a friend like this?  Who you can say absolutely anything to without fearing judgment?

Home

Home.  Such an inviting place.  I believe deeply it should always be, welcoming you with warm, open arms.  If it doesn’t, I dare say it isn’t home.  As well by my definition, home is never a guarantee or a given, it’s a luxury.  It’s something of incredible value fought for with determination, commitment, consistency, and occasional tears and sleepless nights.

Last night as I lay in bed snuggled up next to my husband, our dogs curled up at our feet, I reflected on the highlights of the past several days.  I learned so much history and geography, stood in awe before so many landscapes and ancient monuments, connected with so many beautiful hearts…but the thing that stood out me to most, the thing that warmed my heart despite the achingly cold British winter, was this…

Rewind to the Monday night before I left for London.  As I shared last, I was up late packing and organizing, mentally preparing for the little journey I was about to depart on when Tommy and Linda came through the back door in their pj’s.  I was sitting in the kitchen floor amidst heaps of stuff still to be packed as Linda walked over and tossed this stack of cards on the floor at my side, one for every day I’d be away.  I recall gasping out loud and jumping to my feet to squeeze her, squealing with delight and already fighting the urge to rip them open immediately!

You see, she knows me.  In the deepest, most real and vulnerable way, she knows me.  I didn’t have to explain my apprehension about what I would or wouldn't be able to eat with my gluten issues.  I didn’t have to tell her I’d worry about my dogs, my husband, or if I really could do this tour guiding thing.  I didn’t even have to tell her how much I was going to miss her and our daily walks and talks and cooking together and laughing, and how incredibly grateful I was to know she was here making sure everything was taken care of.  I didn’t have to say it, because she already knew.  Because she knows me.

What’s so important to note here, is that Linda (and every other unspeakably beautiful soul with whom I do life every single day) doesn’t know me because she lives a few doors down.  Or because we hang out a lot.  Or even because we pray and worship together.  All of those things will introduce you to a person, give you a tiny glimpse into who they are, but that in no way means you know someone.  We know one another because we fight on a constant and daily basis, to rip our hearts open and let each other peek inside.  We do it with fear and longing and trepidation.  It isn’t easy, or fun, or simple.  It’s complicated and difficult, indescribably beautiful, sometimes painful, and so, SO scary.  Because it only works if both parties engage wholly, and never can we guarantee that they will.  Loving people well is always risky, your very heart the gamble on the table.    

For us, it means sharing our darkest struggles and secrets.  The shameful things.  The ugly things.  It means yelling and screaming and dancing around kitchens with utter joy when we overcome.  It means telling each other when we’re hurt or mad or angry with someone, or each other.  It means fighting, confessing, forgiving, and saying we’re sorry, a lot.  It’s sharing our pearls, our greatest hopes and dreams, and never worrying they’ll be trampled although we know it’s always a very real possibility.  It means crying openly.  And laughing.  And making lots and lots of fun of each other.  It’s hurting when the other hurts, getting angry when someone wounds them, and helping make up for each other’s mistakes rather than saying I told you so.  It’s defending one another, making concessions, and having the courage to never let anything go unsaid.  It’s encouraging and affirming constantly.  It’s reminding one another of truth, the truth of who we are and often who we aren’t.  It’s sheer, unadulterated commitment, regarding one another best we know how as greater than ourselves.  It’s serving, even when we don’t really feel like it.  And it’s love.  It’s loving deeply and wholly because we know we aren’t alone.  Because we know that we’re known.  Because we know that this life isn’t meant to be lived in solitude.  It’s meant to be shared and so we share it, completely and transparently, knowing doing so will change us always for the better, always for eternity. 

Every morning in England I woke up and read my note for the day, almost first thing.  I would try to brush my teeth and such first if I could stand it, but I always left my note out waiting so I’d see if first thing upon waking.  It gave me a sense of knowing that I wasn’t alone, I could do this, tangible evidence that a tiny army of people on the other side of the world missed me and believed in me.  Some days they made me laugh out loud, others caused me to reflect on beautiful memories, but every day reminded me of truth. 

And Day 3, a quote from one of our favorite books, brought tears to my eyes:

“This is your chance to become what you believe deep in your secret heart you might be.  You are an artist, a guide, a prophet.  You are a storyteller, a visionary, the Pied Piper himself.  Do the work, learn the skills, and make art, because of what the act of creation will create in you.”

--Shauna Niequist, Bittersweet

Knowing other people believe in me, especially those who really know me, makes me believe in myself.

Home is about safety.  It’s a place to find rest, to be the best and the worst of yourself.  It’s a place of constant celebration and hope, a place that always rises to the occasion of meeting whatever need you may have.  It’s beautiful, warm and inviting, no matter your mood or position in life.  Home is a place, yes, but it isn’t just pillows and coffee cups and candles. It’s living, vibrant, flesh and blood warmth you can feel in the deepest part of you and wrap your arms around.  It’s people.  It’s souls.  Without them, home would just be a place full of things you love.  But with them, home is a place where not only your body, but your soul finds rest.  It’s a place of belonging.  A place to be seen even when you think you’re hiding.  A place to be known.

So grateful for the beautiful journey I’ve just returned from, I’m even more grateful to be home.

Vivid Life

She gets it.  She completely, absolutely gets it.

Last night, sitting in the dark of the backseat, I smiled listening to her chatter.  We had just picked her up from the airport after a 24-hour journey home from Australia where she spent ten months studying the Arts in Sydney.  Shannon and I had both been giddy with excitement for days, anticipating the blissful simplicity of having her back in our world.  We had all been fully supportive (and quite impressed) with her decision to move across the globe in the first place, but there was no denying that we’d missed her desperately.  Skype had worked wonders in keeping us connected, at least somewhat, but to have her home now….sheer, inexplicable joy.

I didn’t need to say much.  She already knew.  So instead we just asked her a few questions about her final days and hours in Sydney, and listened, simply content that she was actually present with us. 

I can’t fully explain what it feels like to connect with another person on a soul level.  I think writers and musicians have been trying to express those sentiments for centuries.  It’s something that happens almost magically, and try as we might, we can’t recreate it or construct it on our own.  What I can say, is that when you encounter it, cling to it with all that’s in you…because it’s rare.  And invaluable. 

She shared that her last night, she and her roommate didn’t sleep.  They stayed up all night writing going away letters and talking, and then before dawn walked down to the beach to watch the sunrise over the ocean.  And then in a moment of spontaneity, decided to swim.  In the freezing waters of the Tasman sea.  In their pajamas.  As the sun rose quietly and dolphins played in the distance.

And I smiled.  God.  Life.  Love.  Living.  She gets it.  She completely, absolutely gets it.

Then this morning, Linda and I chatted on the phone.  Me sitting at my table with breakfast, her sitting at hers with hot tea and a journal.  We talked about all she has walked thru the last year…major transitions, growth, getting married, newfound freedom and transformation.  She shared how Tommy had asked her what she wanted to do next in life, now that the wedding was behind them, and she had responded, “I don’t necessarily want to do anything.  I’ve been defined by whatever it was I was doing all my life.  Now, I just want to be.  I want to be a wife.  I want to be a friend.  I want to know and be known by God.”

And I smiled.  She gets it.  She completely, absolutely gets it.

My heart is full to overflowing with gratitude.  For Erin, for Linda, and every other kindred spirit that colors this life so vividly for me.  They remind me every single day of what’s important, of the only things of lasting importance.  Like being a wife.  Like being a friend.  Like swimming in the Tasman sea with your best friend at sunrise…

                                                "Vivid Life" in Hebrew.  Erin Ethridge.  2009.

Savor

This place.

These people.

This season.

…has been one of the sweetest of my life.  Brimming with joy and hope and celebration, each day has seemed it’s own gift.  I’ve tried desperately to soak it all in, each day, each moment, with such intention.  Like sitting quietly with a slice of Kozy Kitchen’s chocolate tres leches cake and a cappuccino, I’ve slowly savored each bite, hoping against hope that the next won’t be the last…  Such is this season, perfectly sweet, tempered with the subtle bitterness of sheer humanity, making it just about as wonderful as I can imagine. 

Reminiscing about the last year, my heart is full.  So many moments, some sweeter and prettier than others, but all beautiful no matter how messy.  More than anything else, it’s the people who’ve made it such. Without them these moments, this life, wouldn’t be nearly so rich and lovely, so full.

A few highlights…travelling and exploring together, NYC and New Jersey with Steven and Christine just after she found out she was pregnant with Luci Belle.  (and spent most of the trip sick in bed ;-)  The highest reaches of the Rocky Mountains with Tommy and Linda, where we watched in tears as he proposed on a mountainside, the setting sun his backdrop.  Scouring out local farms and markets and festivals together, all of us, and making hour-long drives for the simple pleasure of a good grass-fed burger, gallon of raw milk, and reason to sing classic Garth Brooks at the top of our lungs.  Savoring hours-long conversations with Erin via Skype while she’s studying in Australia, conversations full of hope and tears, brokenness, and unspeakable purpose and joy.  And lots of giggling.  Never-ending walks and talks with Linda, wrestling our issues and frustrations to the ground and smiling at each other in victory, knowing we’ll do it all over again tomorrow.  Celebrating with Steven and Christine as they birthed a business, and a beautiful baby girl we all consider ours.  Long prayers and tearful conversations with Kyle, confessions of betrayal, hurt, and failure, punctuated by redemption and transformation of both our hearts.  Travelling all over the map with Shannon, speaking, praying, laughing together and at each other, breathlessly racing thru airports time and again.  Thrifting and bulk trash day treasure hunting with my Mom, canning, picking veggies from the garden or berries and plums growing wild in open fields.  Hiking remote mountain trails in 4-foot of snow with Tommy and Linda, where other hikers had snow-shoes and we had wet Uggs soaked to the bone.  Constant three-part voicemails to and from Ivana, still refusing to accept that we live thousands of miles apart, going on 5 years now.  Late-night conversations and visits with Aaron, neither of us ever walking away quite the way we arrived, always better.  Driving cross-country to stand behind Kristen, a long-awaited redemption before my very eyes, remembering our adventures in Mexico, New York, Greece, living together, speaking and playing together, believing the entire way thru that this day would come. Walking down the isle to stand behind Linda, watching Josh tearfully wed she and Tommy, and then dancing so hard we were all sore for days. Sharing books, confessions, homes, holidays, long meals…  We’ve picnicked, prayed together, yelled at each other, lounged in the sun.  We’ve shared and talked and confessed and cried.  We’ve had adventures and celebrations, dinner parties, store openings, big promotions, sleepless nights, new beginnings.  We’ve cooked together more than we can remember, made fun of each other, challenged, pushed, believed in, inspired, encouraged, and refused to give up on each other. 

But more than anything, we’ve loved each other well.  Not always perfectly, but WELL.

These people, this place, this life…well, it’s meant to savored.  And I intend to relish every last bite and scattered crumb, and then unapologetically lick the plate clean.  Yes...it really is THAT good.