Adoring Joy

No matter how messy I am right now, I can’t help but to adore the One who breathes life into me every day. His beauty is wrapped in an infinite amount of gifts. I’ve realized that although I have a million questions and struggle with some really hard and sometimes simple matters of my faith, I never doubt hope. I sometimes stand on the edge of it, but I never doubt it. I think hope is where I find joy.

I woke up last Friday morning with a sob stuck in my throat. I can’t get it out. I don’t know why it’s there. Drummer boy asked me what it is. I told him I don’t know. He said he doesn’t understand. I said neither do I. I just know it’s there. I take deep breaths a lot hoping that it will escape. It doesn’t work; I just end up hyperventilating. I try to pretend it’s not there but then one of those gifts of God get’s unwrapped and I feel it again. And it doesn’t matter what that gift is…it could be avoiding squashing a squirrel with my car or the glow of a sunset or the sweet voices of my grandchildren, the list is endless.

At church this morning, my pastor friend said in times of great struggle we should hold on to Jesus for He is our Wonderful Mighty Counselor. He said God is in it with us. So at the depth of my soul He is there? He knows then. He knows about the sob. I wonder if I am just beginning to receive the truth of who He is and what He has done for me. I wonder if the sob is what has been or what is to come, or maybe both. I wonder if the sob is filled with hope, untold joys, and unending grace and it’s too much for my heart to receive. I wonder if God is holding the sob or I'm holding it from Him. Or maybe it's His gift to me...

I wonder if maybe in the center of that little sob is untapped beauty and love and adoring joy for the indescribable gift of Jesus.

I wonder.

I wonder a lot.

“It’s supposed to be hard. If it wasn’t hard, everyone would do it. The hard is what makes it great.” (League of Their Own)

My mustard seed size faith is really hard right now. So I should be great right? Not. I worry,I believe, I trust, I doubt, I pray, I seek, I argue, I cry, I try, I fail, I fall, I plead, I imagine, I distract, I hope, I hurt…a lot. I’m trying to lean into my puddle of messy feelings because I think it’s time…but it’s hard. I’m a problem solver. It’s what I do. It’s genetic, on my dad’s side. Every problem becomes an opportunity. I love the challenge. I am ridiculously resourceful. I am focused and determined and don’t even own a throw in the towel, towel.

But it’s time.

I’m grateful beyond measure for the gifts of faith. They are sometimes simple, sometimes complicated but always beautiful. They hold me together in an unraveling sort of way. I wonder if the full richness of life begins with the hard or maybe it’s discovered in the midst of it.

I really don’t know.

I do know that I’m trying to not fix my messy. I’m trying to be in it, to embrace the raw. I’m trying to trust that my Jesus knows my heart and loves me anyway. I’ve struggled with not wanting to go where He has led me. Does it still count? Will He say, “Well done my good and faithful, resistant servant”? Or am I missing the bigger picture here? Instead of fighting the hard maybe I need to embrace the greatness in the hard. After all it’s what brings me to my knees…

Maybe in giving up... the hard becomes easier.

Hmmm…I think I need to find a towel.

Abundant gratitude

I was interviewed yesterday for the cover of a local woman’s magazine. I told the editor I am not cover material. I proceeded to come up with dozens of other women who are way more deserving, (I even included drummer boy on that list…she politely reminded me that it’s a women’s magazine.) Truth is she (the editor) should be on that cover. She is daring, fearless, passionate, vulnerable, Chicago marathon runner and genuinely loved by everyone. She said she can’t be on the cover of her own magazine. I told her Oprah is. She told me to get comfortable and she turned on her recorder. I discovered that she has selective hearing.

She asked me where I am at in this phase of my life. I told her I’m stepping down from the organization I founded after ten years. I told her it was time. I don’t know how I know this, I just do. I’ve been planning my “exit strategy” for about 5+ years. I told her… I am messy and weary and grateful and exhausted and overwhelmingly reflective. I told her I cry in the shower until the water gets cold and then I cry because the water’s cold. I told her I’m selfish. I told her my fear is that I started the organization because I needed a place to put my pain. And I worry it was more about me than stepping in a gap that existed to meet the need of others. I told her 6 years ago when the organization moved to the next level, I had a breakdown. Drummer boy spent days looking for all my scattered pieces. Shortly after that my mom got sick. I had another breakdown after she died. I told her my mom gave me my place in my family. Without her, what’s my place? At 45, I was an orphan, with 5 siblings. Sigh… Emotionally unstable orphan with selfish ambition, yeah that makes a great cover story.

I’m not a cover girl.

I really don’t know when I began to question my motives. In all fairness to myself I think my heart was in the right place. I just don’t really think things all the way through. I never do. I told magazine editor that I never think anything is a big deal, especially big deals. Drummer boy knows this all too well. Anyone that has ever worked on a project with me knows that too. When I began to realize the “big dealness” to this, it was too late. I was in too deep and didn’t know how to get out. So I didn’t. And I had breakdowns. And I have breakdowns. And on some days it takes everything I have to walk out my door. I was reading the other day about wearing the armor of God. I decided I’m a warrior. That I just need to put on my war paint and get in my chariot (with remote starter) and do it. That helps…sometimes.

And now the truth is out. I can’t put it back in.

I’m not a cover girl.

But what I am… is grateful.

I am grateful for… my mom who loved me always, my daughters who I love always, my drummer boy for keeping the beat, my grandchildren who make my world go around, my girlfriends who sometimes tell me what I want to hear … and other times they tell me the truth. I’m grateful for…my 5 siblings, the colors of gray, the beauty of the dessert and abounding grace. I’m grateful for my nieces who are sisters and best friends and enemies all at the same time. I’m grateful for magazine editor who has encouraged me to speak my truth. I’m grateful for good coffee and gluten free cookies. I’m grateful for the moments of utter stillness. I’m grateful for breakdowns and war paint and the opportunity for pain to become purpose. I’m grateful for tears and laughter and dryer sheets. I'm grateful for community and the egg man and granola guy at Saturday's farmers market. I’m grateful for all the women who do selfless, unconditional, love filled works every day. They are cover girls.

Magazine editor asked me if I had to do it over again, would I? I honestly don’t know. I’d like to think I would but it’s probably best that I don’t have a window into the future. Because it’s in the not knowing that pushes me into the deep end of faith…it’s in the not knowing where I find hope… it’s in the not knowing that my trust in God grows.

Magazine editor’s last question was this; “What do you want for yourself this year?” I told her that was a good question. I pondered that for a bit. I told her I wanted to live wholeheartedly in each and every good, bad and messy moment, and to be fully present with a heart of gratitude to the overflowing abundance in my life.

And I told her I still didn’t want to be on the cover of her magazine.

Dances with Jesus

I told Drummer boy husband the other day that he’s my click track. (A click track is a device drummers use to help them keep their beat steady.) I was getting ready for bed and it seemed a tidal wave of emotion knocked me over and stole my breath. So in an attempt to recover it (my breath) I started to breathe to the beat of Drummer boy’s heart. It worked. I fell asleep. I told him about it the next day. He smiled. I think he was a bit amused. I love him.

I started thinking about what I will do when another wave comes and he’s not with me. I considered recording his heartbeat and then stuffing it into a “build a bear”, but thought better of that… for obvious reasons.

About 10 or 12 years ago, Drummer boy and I signed up for ballroom dance lessons. We were in the middle of messy and on the advice of our therapist we began weekly date nights. Drummer boy said it was my call…”whatever you want to do honey”. (If I knew how I would insert a smiley face right here.) I loved it. I loved learning to dance with him. It was beautiful. We had to learn the steps first and then the instructor would put on the music. We learned to keep the beat steady throughout the song. We did good. We discovered our rhythm. I wonder...when I don’t have my living breathing click track handy could I just imagine us dancing? Maybe a waltz or better yet the Hustle. The Hustle was my favorite dance…I’m totally an 80’s girl and I'm convinced big hair and shoulder pads are making a comeback.

Last Sunday my Pastor talked about worship. He said it’s about God not about us (me). I’ve been known to have selective hearing when it’s not about me, but I heard him loud and clear that day. It got me thinking. Maybe I should focus my breath on the one who created me. Maybe looking up is what keeps me from falling down. Maybe when the waves come I ride them, knowing my Jesus is controlling the storm. Maybe dancing recklessly for Him keeps my breath and beat steady. Maybe if I allow Him to lead, I will discover my true rhythm. Maybe if I let go of who I am, I will discover who He is. Maybe my courage comes from leaning into His story.

I’m reading a book called King’s Cross by Timothy Keller. (My daughter's small group is reading this and she told me the other night that I should get it. I had it downloaded before we hung up.) He believes: ” God created us to invite us into the dance, to say: If you glorify me, if you center your entire life on me, if you find me beautiful for who I am in myself, then you will step into the dance, which is what you are made for...To serve me unconditionally. That's where you'll find your joy. That's what the dance is about.”

Worshipping is an invitation to the dance.

Joy...irrational, radical, heartleaping joy is found in the dance.

I am made to dance.

Maybe it's in the breathless awe inspiring dance with Jesus that I will find my breath.

I can do this.

I’ve taken dance lessons.

Falling grace

"How surely gravity’s law,

Strong as an ocean current,

Takes hold of even the smallest thing

And pulls it toward the heart of the world…

This is what the things can teach us:

to fall,

patiently to trust our heaviness."

Rainer Maria Rilke, Book of Hours

Drummer boy husband and I took our inherited dog for a walk this past weekend. This is the picture I snapped in front of our house. This is beauty.

I love fall. It’s my most favorite time of the year. I love the fall smells, the warmth of the sunshine and the clear crisp nights. I love fall candles and pumpkin patches. I love sweatpants and my old warn sweatshirts and curling up on the deck with a glass of wine. I love the colors of the leaves against blue skies and I love listening to the leaves fall. It’s pure grace. I pondered that this weekend…

I thought of how many times I’ve fallen and how it is anything but graceful. Literally or figuratively, it doesn’t matter, my falls are messy. I’m Jill in Jack and Jill, tumbling after myself. Sometimes I pretend I didn’t fall. I look around and if no one is watching I get up, brush myself off and go on with my day. I’m cool like that. My niece told me she once fell down the spiral staircase in Anthropology in New York City where she lives. I asked her what she did. She said she tucked and rolled. (She’s cool too.) I asked if that helped. She said it saved her life. I decided I needed to take tuck and roll classes.

Sometimes God breaks my falls by providing a branch for me to hang out on for a bit. I like those times. I’m aware. I’m present. I’m grateful. I’m hopeful. I’m safe. But then I get comfortable and SNAP… the branch breaks. Drummer boy husband has gotten good at putting me back together. He’s a fixer. He worries a lot about me. He’s afraid he won’t be able to find all my pieces. I tell him not to worry…most of us come with extra pieces.

It seems I can’t rush my falling. I can’t tumble faster. I just need to trust that God in His infinite wisdom will provide a branch or a rock for me when I need to rest. Sometimes the heaviness is comforting, sometimes it’s terrifying but mostly it’s just there. As the poem says, I must trust and be patient. The laws of gravity are at work.

Drummer boy husband and I enjoyed a warm fall evening last night, sipping wine, smoking cigars. I sat listening to the leaves falling. I pondered it all again. Maybe my falling (tuck and roll) is saving my life.

And maybe grace, God’s grace is why I’m falling.

Change the world or take a nap

I had lunch with a friend today at my favorite little cafe. She asked me how I was doing. My mindless response was “I’m good, how are you?” She said, “eh, I’m ok”. And then she proceeded to let me in to her “eh, I’m ok” world. I appreciated her truth. I then told her my truth.

I told her I’m not sure where I’m at. I spoke of a heaviness that I feel. That maybe I have some depression going on, but not depression in a situational way. (For example; the days are shorter, it’s colder, motorcycle season is over, no more (legitimate) reason to wear leather, I miss my grandchildren – of which I desperately do, my bedroom has been under construction longer than I imagined, I miss gluten, I hate budgets, I need a pedi, inherited dog needs a teeth cleaning, my razor is dull, and my mom died 5 years ago…) Those are all good reasons, well most of them are anyways for depression, but it’s not what I feel. What I feel, in a strange way is comforting, it’s as if this heaviness is pushing me towards something. Parker Palmer refers to this as the journey inward. Richard Rohr (who my 3000 mile away friend just introduced me to yesterday) says, “There is much evidence on several levels that there are at least two major tasks to human life. The first task is to build a strong “container” or identity; the second is to find the contents that the container was meant to hold.”

I told my café friend that I’m not even sure heaviness is the correct word. She said it’s because we (society) don’t have a word for that. She's smart and full of wisdom. She's a world changer. She was excited for me and my “journey inward”.

I don’t know if excited is the word I would use, maybe there isn’t even a word for what I feel. Hmmm…I seem to be filled with wordless feelings.

I do know that pain became purpose for me and purpose became pain...and all of that is apparently leading me somewhere.

I went home early today. My container wants to change the world but my contents just want to take a nap.

Recycled thoughts

Here is my very 1st blog post from January of this year. I only had two post and then deleted the blog. I know a lot of people think they are writers, I however am not one of those people. But apparently it's all part of my messy travels right now. It seems it is the beginning of my search for more.

"If we are to live our lives fully and well, we must learn to
embrace the opposites, to live in a creative tension between our
limits and our potentials. We must honor our limitations in ways that do not distort our nature, and we must trust and use our gifts in ways that fulfill our potentials God gave us. We must take the no of the way that closes and find the guidance it has to offer and take the yes of the way that opens and respond with the yes of our lives." Parker Palmer, Let Your Life Speak

This is my journey of more, of using my limitations to expand myself to be in the presence of each moment. Touch. feel. breathe. be. It is a bit of a paradox, "more" grows from less when there is room to breathe. It is then that our gifts begin to blossom.
I'm learning that more is not about the doing.
For today my more is the simple act of breathing.

Toilets, toasters and accountants...oh my.

I did everything I possibly could this morning to avoid coming to work. I slept in, did morning devo's, talked to God for a little while, had a half hour text message conversation with my neice, made breakfast and actually sat down to eat it, did the few dishes in the sink, decided the toilet needed to be scrubbed, a load of laundry put in and floors swept, I even played with our inherited dog. I finally ran out of "gotta do before I leave for work chores", so I loaded up with my purse, laptop, car keys, gave the dog a treat, turned back for a quick glance and realized I left the toaster out. Sigh. I unloaded, put the toaster back where it belonged, switched the laundry, gave the dog another treat, loaded back up and drove to work. I took the scenic route. I needed to since I only live 1/2 mile from work. Why? Avoidance. The non-profit I run was having it's annual review/audit. I hate numbers. They confuse me. My memory is awful and unless my bookkeeper keeps copius notes (of which she does) I knew I was not going to be much help to the numbers guy. I can't take it all in...my eyes start to glaze over, I can't understand a word he's saying to me...literally. At one point I feared I was having a stroke. I could see his lips moving but I couldn't comprehend what he was saying. Remember in the movie Old School when Will Ferrell is hit by a stun gun in the neck...? Yep, that was me today except I didn't fall into a swimming pool, nope I fell on my ego.
I came across all executive director like until the numbers guy asks me questions about depreciation and allocations and debits and credits and blah, blah, blah.
I'm busted...
I've been telling God for 10 years I'm not the one to run this show. Again, I blame Him. I only really want to do what I want to do and balancing budgets is not one of them. All day I have felt like I'm on the edge...and then tonight I realized that I'm the one that puts me there. I don't have to have all the answers, I just need to know people that do. (Key leadership principle!) Which allows me to focus on what I'm really good at...which is distraction and apparently avoidance.

Sweet Surrender...

is all that I have to give.

My quiet time this morning was filled with noise. No clarity, just static. I drew comfort from Psalm 68:19, "Praise be to the Lord, to God our Savior, who daily bears our burdens." My word for the day - surrender. Which then took me to Sarah McLachlan's song, Sweet Surrender.

There are probably many meanings to this song but I hold on to the chorus today.

And sweet surrender is all that I have to give.

It's that simple, it's that complicated.

Discovering more

The "Joy of Discovery" was the heart of the message of a church I attended last weekend while visiting my daughter and her family. We learned that the keys in making great discoveries included being open to God and to seek, hear and trust His truth. I spent some time trying to reflect on my own discoveries. Which was a bit of a challenge for me as my memories seem to be lost somewhere in the chaos of my life. Unable to recall the past I left service that day determined to discover some of my more in the here and now.

And what better teachers than my 3 year old granddaughter and my 7 week old grandson. Every distraction of mine seems to fall away when I'm in their presence. I love watching life through their eyes. The world seems more adventurous, life seems more creative and time seems more precious. Every day is a day filled with discoveries for them. It's simply natural. They don't know how not to discover. And its made me think about when that changed for me. When did I quit discovering? When did life begin to live and lead me instead of me living life? We watched the "Lion King" one afternoon and there is a profound statement (no judging) that Mufasa makes to his son Simba...he says, "You are not what you have become".(Imagine James Earl Jones voice.) Hmmm... am I? Parker Palmer in his book, Let Your Life Speak, asks the question, "Is the life we're living the life that wants to live in us?" I wonder. I stayed with my 3000 mile away friend during my visit. I love her. I'm convinced we are sisters separated at birth but since both my parents have died I have no way of verifying this. She continues to receive my daily devotions which interestingly enough almost always reflect where I'm at. She accepts my messiness and sometimes even joins me in it. She wanted to know if I think I'm in this season of life where I am reinventing myself. I thought a lot about that question. I decided I don't like that word. I don't want to reinvent, I want to discover who I am and stop being what I have become. I want to be open to the possibilities, to seek the truth, to hear God's voice and to trust in a faith that challenges me to lean into hope...always, especially in my messiness.

So what did I discover this week? That my more is filled with untapped depth and dimension. That I'm not just a meme, mom, sister, wife, friend, lover of Jesus. That by believing wholeheartedly in the One that created me allows me to embrace who I am...which is a meme, mom, sister, wife, friend and lover of Jesus. That discoveries aren't made in the future, they are made in the sweet precious moments of now. That grandchildren fill my heart with abundant joy, wonder and love... and that saying goodbye to my grandchildren...well saying goodbye... breaks my heart open.

Heaven on Harley

I've been discovering my more lately...you know the who I am outside of what I am.

Riding through upstate NY this past weekend was a window into my more. I started riding with my husband 6 years ago. I fell in love with the adventure. So much so, that I bought my own shiny machine. I have a tendency to always want to be in control, I know this about myself. (I'm working on that though...one of my best friends is a therapist and we talk a lot.) But when it comes to riding, I just want to hang back and be led. My drummer boy husband always navigates us on these little escapes, but we spent one day this weekend with a small group of fellow road warriors. I love the language of riding. It's intuitive. There is a rhythm amongst this brotherhood/sisterhood. I was towards the back of the pack and got to witness how this group fit perfectly into the landscape of some of the most beautiful scenery ever. And then I realized I was part of that. I found some of my more in my gratitude of such beauty. When we stopped for a picnic lunch, I had a chance to get to know some of these people. I loved that the conversation wasn’t so much about what they did, but who they are. They are fun and wildly spirited (which is code for crazy), patriotic and thoughtful, caring and considerate and unbelievably committed to the adventure. It’s as if their more began with leather and chrome. I wonder if it’s because the only noise is the bike’s natural surround sound of nature. I wonder if it’s because the language is unspoken. I wonder if it’s because we get to touch God’s grace through the beauty of the journey...a glimpse of heaven on earth. I wonder if being led 300 miles across the Adirondacks is really about traveling towards our (my) more.

I wonder...

Demolition to wholeness

I woke up this morning unbelievably sore. Yes, for the 1st time in my life I took a sledgehammer to a wall. I had no idea how heavy those things are or how much mess a small wall with pretty pink paint on it could make. I’m doing a little DIY remodel for two reasons: 1) I needed a distraction; 2) I needed a distraction. The problem with my distraction addiction is that it’s no longer working for me. I’m seeing metaphors for my life in these distractions. It’s annoying. I’m having a hard enough time trying to figure out what I’m feeling, now I’m seeing the struggle of my life through 2x4’s and sheetrock.

I blame Jesus. I didn’t know what a metaphor or a paradox was before I met Him. He ruined me. I gain by losing, receive when I give, am strong when I am weak, live by dying and I am whole in my brokenness...sigh. I fell for Jesus about 15 years ago in the midst of gut wrenching heartache. But somewhere on this journey I lost me, not in a “paradox” way but in a very real sense. I know I’m more but I don’t know how to journey towards that more. I know it means not always being able to trust what I feel but to know what I trust. That confuses me...but I do know this, I trust Him. I know that He will hold me through this. I know that I need to deconstruct some of the walls I've created. I know that if I feel alone, I’m not. I know that distraction is something I need to give up but truth be told, I know I would rather give up chocolate.

Trust the mess

I'm in the middle of messy right now. I'm mostly trying to figure out what I'm feeling on a daily basis. I have quiet time every morning where I pray God will audibly speak to me. I pray He will join me in my morning devotion and we can talk about the hard stuff. I even make an extra few cups of highlander grogg (my favorite coffee blend, from my favorite little cafe). I usually end up drinking it all. I love Jesus. I believe in Him. I just want answers to some of my questions. I share my morning devo's with a dear friend 3000 miles away. There's a 3 hour time difference but she gracefully receives my texts which include a thought, quote and or scripture along with my word for the day. She's safe and makes me feel like I'm heard. She encourages my truth. Everyone needs that kind of friend, you know like Pooh and Eeyore.

I got a journal for my birthday called the Truth And The Questions by Sabrina Ward Harrison. It's the most beautiful journal ever. I carried it around with me for weeks and carefully considered what I would write in it before I actually took pen to paper. One of the questions in this museum like journal is "what do you carry?". Hmmm... I didn't think it was much...boy was I wrong. I ran out of room. Here's a sample of what I carry: " I carry love and faith, I carry the tension between struggle and peace, goodness and greatness, pain and hope, love and loss. I carry my ego. I carry the love of Jesus, sometimes I share that love, sometimes I don't. I carry black and white, I carry color. I carry the past, present and future. I carry my mom's last tear, untold stories and the other shoe. I carry do-overs. I carry heartache. I carry regret. I carry gratitude for that kind of friend. I carry distraction. I carry shame. I carry beauty. I carry wonder. I carry longing. I carry raw. I carry courage...sometimes."

So here I am trying to figure out how to do messy, how to carry it all and how much coffee I should brew in the morning.