On Relationships: Excerpt from Sarah Markley

Consider this post a little commercial of sorts.  I'll be posting the third and final part of our conception story later today, but while it goes thru yet another round of edits I had to share this with you.  

It comes from one of my favorite bloggers, Sarah Markley.  Funny little story about Sarah, I've connected with her one or twice via email and after reading the 'about me' portion of her blog asked her flat out one day if she was an INFJ personality type, as am I, to which she responded, "You are SO perceptive!"  

INFJ's recognize one another you see, being that we're the rarest of all the 16 Meyer's Briggs types, representing only 1% of the population.  I'm certain the INFJ connection is half the reason I adore her blog, as I identify so well with her writing and experiences.  

Reading one of her recent posts this morning I was immediately drawn in, feeling at once seen and understood though she many never know it.  If you've ever walked through a season like this yourself, it's wonderfully refreshing to know you aren't alone, and more importantly that certainly God is in it.  

"Right now, God is editing my relationships. He has been reordering my friendships and my acquaintances and, to be honest, I’ve been fighting Him on it for the last few months.

I haven’t asked God to remove certain people from my life, but in small ways He has. I haven’t asked Him to give me new and different friendships, but He has. And I haven’t asked Him to strengthen some of the relationships that He has been undergirding with love, listening and understanding, but that is exactly what He has been doing.

He has brought certain women in and at the same time, gently ushered a few out. We’ve renewed relationships with old friends and, without intention, others have stayed static.

I can’t explain it, but I feel as if I’m sitting back and watching God rearrange a lot of things. It has been slow, but it has been very sure. And it has been very surely God. During most of my life I would have desperately fought it and hung on to things even if God was trying to remove them. Tooth and nail, in the past I’ve clawed to keep close things and people that I believe I deserve or even “own.”

But I feel a peace about this tender transition in my life. I know that He has my best interests in mind and in His “kinder” way is editing my life."

 Thanks yet again, Sarah.  Couldn't have said it better myself.

(full post available here) 

A Season of Music

I landed a new treasure.  A rich, sophisticated, lovely treasure, laden with history and meaning.  

It immediately tops my list of my favorite finds to date, for a whole host of reasons I'll get to in just a minute... but before I do let me explain how this particular treasure hunt came about.

Last fall I made the life-altering decision to resign from the ministry I worked for, quit my part-time job, and enter into a 'Season of Artistry' as I so fondly refer to it.  The decision came on the heels of several months of wrestling with God, tear filled conversations with my husband, confessions of fear, and finally, the realization that none of my constant unrest was going away until I jumped headlong off the edge of reason and security. In other words, until I stepped out in faith.  

It meant a lot of sacrifice and surrender and dying to myself.  It meant slaying my ego on a daily basis.  And in the immediate it meant giving up a paycheck, a title, a specific sense of purpose, a great deal of influence, and a handful of relationships I'd come to cherish.  

It was terrifying.

In the months to follow it also meant the surrender of a whole host of other things I never could have fathomed, and in all honesty, had I realized the breadth of what God was requiring of me, the scales may never have tipped that day towards courage.  But by grace, with hope, they did.  And I did.  And things have not looked the same since.  My life, has not looked the same since.  

Season of Artistry.  I'm in it, fully in it these days.  And it's beautiful.  It's lonely, very lonely in fact.  It's cost me more than I even care to really consider.  It's gut-wrenchingly difficult some days.  But it's beautiful.  And it's right where I'm supposed to be, of this I'm certain.  

Last year, as summer changed to fall and my days from answering phone calls and emails to long walks and lots of introspection, I wasn't exactly sure what I was doing.  All I knew for sure was that I needed to create.  I needed to write... poems, chapters, book proposals.  I designed and launched this blog.  I started rearranging rooms and painting furniture pieces.  I cooked, a lot.  I traveled a ton.  I snapped endless photos.  I planted a wee garden.  

No matter what, I made it a point to create something every day.  

I'm still doing it.  Every day, creating something.  I'm figuring out what's next.  I'm forcing myself to do the difficult things, the things I don't want to do, the scary things.  And my oh my how life has changed as a result...  My marriage.  My home.  My relationships.  My finances.  My faith in God.  Everything.  All for the better.

I couldn't have taken that flying leap of faith without my husband.  And quite frankly, had I not tiptoed my way to edge shaking and terrified... he eventually would have shoved me off the edge.  You think I'm kidding. I'm not.  He believes in me more than anyone and trusts God implicitly when it comes to what He's called me to.  He would have shoved me. Thankfully I mustered up the courage to do it myself, which is a very good thing it turns out because it creates all kinds of confidence.  But let the record show that Joshua Smith would have thrown his wife off the cliff before jumping gleefully behind her had she not done it herself.

But back to my lovely new treasure...

Somewhere in the midst of this journey God rekindled a desire in my heart for music, specifically piano music. I took piano as a kid and loved it, but I wasn't mature enough to really appreciate or commit fully, so I quit after a year or two.  A few months ago I began toying with the idea of taking lessons again, reasoning doing so would be a beautiful addition to my 'season of artistry'.  I told Josh, who was all for it, but still it remained only a thought for the most part.  

Then came my miracle.  And everything changed.

Everything in our life suddenly shifted into view, as if all along we'd been unknowingly, ever-so-slightly out of alignment, as if a subtle, comfortable haze had lifted, our world now seen in HD clarity.

On his was to work one day, Josh texted me to say the God had clearly spoken to his heart.  We were entering a new season, one filled with worship and music.  "I want you to find us both a place to take lessons," he told me.  Tears of joy literally filled my eyes.

A trip to the music store left me feeling a little overwhelmed and slightly disappointed.  I didn't want to learn on a cheap keyboard.  That was not what I'd had in my heart.  I wanted a piano.  A real, authentic, gorgeous sounding piano.  Craigslist left me empty handed, too.  As a last resort I mentioned it to my mom.  I should've known asking my parents to track down anything is almost infallible.  They taught me everything I know regarding treasure-hunting, after all!  It literally only took a couple days.  She called back to inform me she'd worked a deal with my Dad to get Josh a guitar (technically it's MY guitar anyway, but that's another story ;-) and she'd also spoken with my great aunt and landed me an antique piano!  I was thrilled... almost couldn't believe it.  

A few days later, they both sat proudly displayed in our dining room.  My Aunt Lou (whose middle name is Joy, whom my mom was named after, Shanna Joy, and thus me) is moving fairly soon and was finally ready to part with the very piano she'd learned on some 40 years ago.  My great Grandaddy George had given it to her after it was abandoned by it's owner at an apartment complex in lieu of rent money.  It was built in 1955 and weighs something like 400 pounds.  And it's gorgeous.  

I'm in LOVE with it.  With it's beauty, the family history, the meaning, the way it found it's way to me... It almost brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it.  

As we were loading up to leave my sweet Aunt Lou-Lou looked sincerely at me and said, "Part of my heart is driving away with that piano."  I assured her I'd take the best possible care of it, no question.  And that I'd love it just as she did, for years and years to come.  Her husband Richard also mentioned that they'd fallen in love sitting at that piano playing music together; she the piano, he the guitar.  I promised to continue that tradition, as well.

Treasure of treasures, she is.  I can't play too much yet, just what I remember from learning as a child, but I still sit for long moments and stroke her lovely keys anyway.  And every single time Josh walks thru the dining room he taps a key or two... just because.  I giggle now, almost expecting it.  

It's just so beautiful, all of it.  I feel almost charged to take care of her, to play her, to make beautiful music for the rest of my life, both literally and metaphorically.  So much meaning, this treasure.  I feel absolutely inspired.

What kind of season do you find yourself in these days??

Miracle

Shaken awake.  3 am.  Nightmare.  Horrible nightmare.  A warning.  No, please no.  I lie awake.  I pray against it, hope against it.  What could it mean?  A warning... no doubt, it's a warning.  Unsettled, so many questions, but also a strange, inexplicable sense of peace.

He saw me.

In the fetal position.  In my bathroom floor.  Sobbing, wracked, devastated.  Tiles wet from my tears. Whispering aloud over and over, "There's no way to fix it... no way to fix it..."

He saw me.

Walking a cobblestone street.  With her, my truest confidant.  I couldn't speak.  I tried.  Again and again I tried, but with every breath my throat constricted and tears filled my eyes.  I couldn't get a word out.  I kept apologizing.  Saying if I could just process I know I'd feel better.  But I couldn't speak.  The pain, deep and overwhelming.  I couldn't speak.  

He saw me.

Angry.  So angry.  I look to the heavens.  I shake my fist, trembling, my heart bitter and cold.  You've left me, I accuse. You promised You'd never, but you have.  You aren't here.  I don't know where You are, but You certainly aren't with me.  How could You?  How dare You?  Bitter tears run down my cheeks, drip from my chin...

He saw me.

Sitting in the dark corner of a foreign airport.  2 am.  Entirely alone.  Entirely.  Two cops, smirking, Italian speaking.  Standing over me in the dark, interrogating, berating, accusing.  Terrified.  I couldn't understand what they were saying.  They demanded I not move.  They began locking all the doors.  All the doors.  They locked me in.  With them.  Alone.  Sheer horror.

He saw me.

Sitting in her living room.  Humiliated.  Devastated.  Broken.  She spoke sharply, "Do you want to fight? Do you? Will you fight for this?"  Through tears and anger, barely able to breathe, hopelessly sincere, "Yes."

He saw me.

Dark curtains drawn, crawling into bed.  Over and over.  Just sleep.  Don't wake up.  Please.  Just sleep.  My husband next to me, praying.  Weeping.  Hoping.

He saw me.

"Joy comes in the morning," she said, "Joy comes.  In the morning."  I didn't believe her.  I hang up the phone.  If only it were that simple...

He saw me.

Over the course of many months, many warnings, He was preparing my heart.  He didn't give me warning that I might avoid the pain.  He gave me warning that I might look back and see Him, everywhere, all along the way preparing my heart, telling me this was coming.  Not to fear, not to run, but trust.  It will.  Be okay.  I see you.  I'm with you.  The enemy will strike.  But I'm with you.  I'm very near.  

And He was.  

He is.

Just as He'd shown me, just as He'd warned me for weeks and weeks, tragedy came.  Instantly I knew. The dreams, the words of warning and encouragement from prophetic voices in my life, the whispers along the way... in an instant they swirled about me, almost dizzying me with realization.  I knew, although admittedly, the knowing didn't lessen the blow.  It left me broken.  

I was confident I'd never recover.  Sure this would be the death of me, of my soul.  

Day 1: shock, devastation, terror, sleeplessness, anger, frustration, mourning.  

Day 2: fear, resentment, hatred, emptiness, hopelessness, humiliation, horror.

But then, but then... but then Day 3.  Oh, Day 3...

Morning.  I awoke.  My eyes fluttered open.  Patches of sunlight danced on the hardwood floor across my bedroom.  I breathed deeply.  I waited.  Slowly I felt for the sadness, the brokenness... but I couldn't get my fingers around it.  I felt harder, reached farther... nothing.  I sat up.  I looked around the room, staring at the dancing sunlight here and there, filtering thru the trees.  Quietly but surely something else began to rise from the depths of me, the deepest part of me.  I felt it acutely, rising higher, more intensely, almost to overflow... Is it... could it possibly... it can't be but... it is!  Joy!  It's joy! As if pulsing thru my very veins, it filled me.  Joy! It made no sense.  I paused, waited, wracked my brain, dug around in my heart for the overwhelming sadness that had become my constant companion... nothing.  No where.  Not even its scent remained!  How is this possible?!  I fall back on my pillow, close my eyes breathing deeply, letting it wash over me in wave after miraculous wave.

Lord, how is this possible?  How could this be real?  For the first time in days I hear Him, clearly, knowingly.  

"I let you weep, but I won't let it continue.  I saw your tears.  I counted them.  I wept with you.  This is your miracle.  Receive it in full.  My promises are real, joy comes in the morning.  No more weeping.  I have fully restored your heart.  Oh how I delight in you..."

Suddenly I know too, innately, unquestionably, He's never left my side.  Silent, yes.  But absent, never. I see it.  Crystal clear.

"...I didn't want this, but I will use it.  It was necessary.  Brokenness is always necessary to receive abundant Life.  You think you've known My fullness, My abundance, but oh you have no notion.  Now, here, and everyday forward you will know and experience true fullness of life.  Do you see it now?  Do you understand why I couldn't intervene?  And yet how I absolutely intervened?  Do you see my purpose?  My grace?  My limitless love for you?  Do you see that what the enemy intended for destruction I am using to reconstruct with an even surer foundation?  Fear no more.  Weep no more.  For I am.  I am."

My heart broke.  Sheer gratitude.  A miracle.  It was a miracle.  A real life, instantaneous, unexplainable miracle.  There were no adequate words to express my thanks, or my sorrow in realizing the false and violent charge laid against Him, my refusal to trust the eternally Trustworthy.  Surely, truly, He makes all things new. Surely, truly, He is forever for me.

Even now it doesn't make sense, the literal overnight restoration of my shattered heart made new.  I don't and can't comprehend it, still.  But reading thru the gospels I see account after account of the miraculous. When Jesus touched a life, they were never the same.  Their healing was immediate.  They didn't read a dozen books or go through 6 months of counseling or a 12-step program. They were changed, healed, delivered on the spot, wholly and completely.  

This day and forever, I will count myself among them.  This day and forever, I will not be the same.  It has irrevocably changed me in every way imaginable.  He is the Restorer, the Redeemer.  When we wrestle with the Holy God of the universe, we don't walk away without a limp.  I get it.  I understand.  

When Jacob awoke from his sleep, he thought, "Surely the Lord is in this place, and I was not aware of it." Genesis 28: 16

As to what this all means moving forward, well, quite frankly it means that everything is changing. Once you've seen the glory of God you can't go back.  I've seen His glory.  I'll never be the same.  No conversation, no relationship, no task, no prayer, not a single meal or walk or errand.  

Glory to God.  God alone.  Everything.  Is changing. 

Being Seen: Email from Dakotah

At the end of a recent email from my almost 16-year-old little sister-in-law, she wrote the following:

p.s.- so I had to read this book called 'Bird by Bird-instructions on writing and life' by Anne Lammot and the whole time i was reading it i couldn't stop thinking of you so i think you should read it :) love you!  

Need I express how much that warmed my heart?  Of course I responded with a whole ecstatic declaration of it being my favorite book and author of all time!  

There's something about being known and understood at the very heart and soul of who you are that's thrilling.  But that kind of knowing is so rare, because it takes intention and careful observation to know a person in such a way.  Clearly Dakotah is one who pays attention, because she's intelligent and attentive for one, but more so because she's an artist and romantic in her own right.  (Though I'm not certain she's fully aware of it just yet.)  One of the foundational qualities of any great artist is their natural ability to pay attention, be aware, observe, see things in a way that no one else does.

Case & Point: What will forever be one of my favorite memories of our entire trip was the moment she stepped onto the lawn beneath the Eiffel Tower for the very first time, and was so moved she began to weep.  That kind of a reaction is not one of a tourist.  It's one of an artist.

Cheers to being seen, being known, being celebrated.  It's a rare gift, and in this particular case just happens to be reciprocal... even rarer.

Are you intentional about really observing and knowing the people in your life?  Do you have someone in your life who truly sees you?  

Sunlight

Every morning I whip the blanket off their crate, unlatch it and tell them "Good morning, girls!  Good morning, good morning!"

They're usually still sleepy-eyed, rockin' the bed head look, and they'll slink from their crate and stretch their tiny backs and legs, then slowly start to prance about my feet with enthusiasm.  I'll squat down and scratch their little heads, picking them up for a quick morning squeeze.

They'll wait for me to complete whatever task is next on my list, all the while waiting by the utility closet door.  The longer I make them wait the more anxious they'll get, whimpering and whining at first, resorting to barking if necessary.  When I finally decide they've waited long enough I'll retrieve their morning treat from the closet. They'll jump and dance about in ecstatic circles, bouncing off my legs again and again.  Then I'll open the door to the reading room full of warm, morning sun, as they race inside with their treasures.

They'll each find a patch of sunlight and settle in for a leisurely morning.  They won't move from their warm little patches of light until the sun rises high enough in the sky to escape the grasp of the windows.  

Every morning is the same, girls in patches of sunlight.  

And every morning it reminds me again,

I want to lay in the Sun today too, if only for a moment.  I want to curl up with a book somewhere in the Sun and let it's warmth soak into bones, let it heal me body and soul.  Yes, that's what I'll do.  Yes, that's what I must do.

Sometimes it's literal sunlight, sometimes metaphorical, but every day I intentionally seek out a ray of light here or there and soak it in... a great chapter from Anne Lamott, a deep orange egg yolk spilling over a slice of buttery toast, a warm conversation with someone I love, a quiet evening walk down Swiss with my husband...patches of sunlight.  A deeply felt psalm, a moment of realization and teaching, a silly laugh standing in my kitchen just because...patches of sunlight.  An encouraging email from an old friend, watering the little pots on our porch, a steaming cup of tea that warms from the inside out...patches of sunlight.

Don't miss them.  Even on dark and dreary days, don't miss them.  They matter.

What are the patches of sunlight in your everyday?

Real

Ivana and I do this thing.  We’ve done it for years, especially since Josh and I moved to Texas and she and Ryan moved to South Carolina.  It’s where in lieu of an actual conversation on the phone, we leave each other long messages.  I mean, long.  In fact, we fill up the entire 4-minute message capacity and then call back, sometimes twice, for a total of almost 12 minutes.  Once I even left her 4.  (But I thought she might kill me if I ever did it again, so to date, I haven’t.  She does have two babies to tend to and all…) And if either of us ever happens to actually pick up the phone, a rare occurrence, we freak out a bit and tell her to hang up immediately and NOT answer when we call right back!

It’s our thing.  And we do it well.  No one really gets it but us.  We’re introverts, we’re artistic personality types, we don’t enjoy long, awkward phone conversations with anyone, even each other…so we leave messages.  It works for us.

Recently she left me a wonderful 1st message commenting on my blog, and life, and the world at large…but I could hear something else behind her voice she wasn’t saying.  Then came message 2, again full of updates and thoughts and current books she’s reading…and then a minute or so in, she spilled. She said she was attempting to be shallow and keep things on the surface level, and then she paused, “…but let’s be real…let me tell you what’s really going on in my heart…”

My ears perked up.  A silly grin spread across my face.  My heart warmed.

There she is.  The girl I adore, my forever friend, my Ivana.

She went on to share her frustrations and concerns, the things she’s working thru in her heart.  It only took another minute or so, but in that moment she didn’t feel the literal thousand miles away, she felt a breath away.  As far as I was concerned she might as well have been sitting in my living room sipping a hot vanilla chai.  I could see her face, her blue eyes.  I could peer into her heart. 

Authentic relationships.  Real relationships.  Inspiring relationships, the ones that stir your soul and point you towards greatness again and again.  They’re worth fight for, and boy do I.

Ivana can tell you we’ve had a few screaming matches.  We’ve hurt each other, offended each other.  Once I even blatantly walked out of a room and slammed a door while she sat sobbing.  We’ve shared secrets and fears, all of our worst possible thoughts about being wives and mothers.  We’ve disagreed, we’ve argued, we’ve even yelled at each other’s husbands more than once and then gotten upset at each other for doing so.

It’s a real relationship. 

We’ve certainly grown and matured over the years beyond a lot of our early adulthood stupidity and opinions, but the secret to our success is simple: We keep fighting.

We keep reaching out, forgiving each other again and again.  We keep reminding each other that we’re understood, that expectations within the context of relationship suck, and that we’re loved and celebrated every single day, if only by each other.  We offer one another a safe place to say all the truly terrible things we fear saying out loud to anyone else, a place where judgment really is nonexistent, miraculously.  We make the other laugh, especially when we most need it.  We tell each other the truth, particularly when we don’t believe it.  And we force ourselves over and over and over again, beyond the thin veil that separates shallow conversation from life-altering truth, the kind that requires prayer and thought and deep, scary, raw honesty.  The kind that requires bravery.

And when we make it, sometimes by tiptoe or sometimes a brazen stomp that rips right thru the veil without a backward glance, we celebrate.  She cheers, I clap, we let out sighs of relief and victory, perhaps a nervous, thankful giggle. And then most importantly, in the silence that follows, we whisper to one another one more time…don’t stop telling the truth.  Don’t stop baring your soul.  Because it helps me.  In every way you cannot understand and in every way you do, it helps me.  Keeping fighting for me, and I will keep fighting for you.  We’ll do it together.

I fight for the people I love.  And without question or exception, that means fighting with them.  In recent weeks I’ve had difficult, gut-wrenching conversations with just about everyone close to me.  Choking, fear-laden conversations that have forced me to gasp for breath out of sheer terror I’d walk away without them, having been rejected at the very soul-level.  It’s required a lot of truth telling, a lot of second or third or forty-fifth chances and leaps of faith.  But I believe it’s worth it.  I’ve offended people, I’ve been wounded, I’ve told the truth equally about both the beauty and ugliness of my heart.  I’ve apologized, they’ve apologized, I’ve cried and over-analyzed and felt entirely alone and misunderstood.  Family, my husband, friends…no one seems to have escaped the shake-up. 

And I know it isn’t over.  In all honesty, it’s never over.  As long as we move and breathe there will be offense and glory, death and redemption, hope dashed, and hope restored.

I don’t think I’m capable of shallow relationships.  Really, I don’t.  I just don’t know how to do them.  I never have.  If they remain shallow beyond a few conversations or if my probes for depth and honestly are met with constant resistance, you’ll soon see me silently exiting stage left, slipping out quietly, hopefully unseen.

And because of the intensity with which I do relationship, it isn’t unusual to see other people exiting stage left, sometimes quietly, sometimes not so much.  And I get it, I do.  I’m admittedly a bit of an extremist, there’s little middle ground with me, and sometimes people aren’t quite ready for that.  However, I’m also not capable of suddenly not loving a person I’ve ever loved deeply, so in a sense, I’m still fighting even for those who’ve walked away from me with deliberate intention.  I always will be on some level, whether they’re aware of it or not, and I’ve found a great deal of peace in that.

But for those who’ve stayed to fight like Ivana and so many others, you know who you are… thank you.  I’m with you.  I won’t leave this sacred ground.  My feet are planted.  Despite blood and tears and tragedy, horror and offense and fears realized…my feet are planted. 

Keep telling the truth.  Keep calling back.  Keep arguing until we understand, until we believe.  Keep encouraging.  Keep laughing.  Keep telling secrets and fears and hopes.  Keep baring your soul.

Keep fighting.

It won’t ever be easy, but it’s what real relationships are made of.  And in my opinion, those are the only ones that matter.  At the end of the day I’d rather have one Ivana than a thousand pleasant acquaintances.  That’s the simple truth.

Do you fight for the people you love?  Do you press for depth and honesty, even when it’s painful and scary?