And Then I Realized.....

My son told me tonight that he wanted my brother to come back and live with us.  He said it wasn't fair that he moved.  I get it.  We want to hold on to the things and people we love, because letting go hurts.  I told him we could Skype with my brother and he perked back up.  Problem solved.  I wish I was as simple as a 4 year old.  Tonight after I showered I was getting dressed when I finally saw one benefit to my brother leaving; I don't have to worry about putting a bra on now when I'm just sitting around the house!  Yes! I had forgotten the freedom of bra-less days!  Liberation at its finest I tell you.

The days have been long for a while now.  I can smile and laugh sometimes, but my heart has not often genuinely felt it.  I had another break down tonight.  Once again, I've felt it coming on slowly, just building like a tsunami.  I text my ex a week or so ago.  Poured my heart out about my pain and all the tears I've cried.  He told me he has just been throwing himself into school and being a better dad.  I went to the shower tonight for release.  It never feels very easy for me to cry.  When do you do it in the midst of parenting?  At least in the shower I can tell myself my kids won't hear me.  I know my daughter sees my pain already, and it makes her angry.  And I think the last thing she needs right now is to see me when the tsunami hits; because when it comes it doesn't stop until it has wiped out everything in its path.

I thought I might jump in the shower and cry a little, just let a little bit out before bed. But the tears spilled.  Internally I begged and I moaned and I pleaded with God.  Externally my tears increased and my crying grew louder. Then I succumbed to it.  I got down on my knees while the water rained down on me.  I even grabbed a hand towel to try and muffle my cries.  Snot ran in a continuous stream from my nose.  It was quite a sight, I'm sure, and for a second I was relieved to know no one was there to see it.  Lying on the floor of the bath tub on my side, face buried in a towel, blowing snot occasionally so I could breathe, my body wracking with sobs.  And my heart a mess.

But I wasn't alone.  And I pictured God, not just catching my tears, but sobbing with me.  And I cried harder.  Briefly I even felt like apologizing to God for asking him to meet me in this place of broken heartedness and snot and a pool of water in the bottom of my tub.

And then I realized.....

He wanted to meet me there.  He wanted to hear my thoughts, which consisted of words like these;

"I can't do this."

"I am not strong enough."

"I can't fake it."

"I can't smile when I feel like crying."

"I don't know how to keep going on when I'm filled with such intense sadness."

"Loving people hurts so much."

"I am broken."

Then I realized I felt like I was dying.  Because I am.  I'm letting go of the hurt and the pain.  I'm  letting go of the control I've tried to have over all these experiences. And those parts of me are dying.  But He promises to make me new.

I finally stepped out of the shower and I recalled my mother telling me just last week, "Betty, you are so strong.  You've always been much stronger than me."  No I haven't.  In high school I tried to take my life twice.  That's not strength.  But I lived, because God has a plan for me.  When other people look at me and see strength, what they see is not my own.  If it had just been up to me, I would have died long ago.  But I'm here; not because of my own strength, but because of God's strength.

I thought of the words "beautifully broken," and I cried again.  I thought, "God, sometimes brokenness does not look beautiful at all.  Sometimes it does not feel beautiful.  It just hurts."  And you can't tell me my broken self lying sobbing in a tub of snot is beautiful.

But He did.  And I heard it.  I felt it.  And I knew that in order for Him to be my strength, I needed to be as broken as I felt.  I strive so fiercely to be me sometimes, that I need Him to remind me that He works through the weak.  It is when we lay it all down that He picks us back up and holds us in a loving embrace. 

Tonight I will go to sleep soundly I think.   My heart lighter.  Wanting to trust.  Thankful that parts of me are dying so that new parts of who I am might come to life.  Tomorrow I will wake up and do it all over again; the surrender.  Hopefully without the sobbing mess.  But if that's what it takes, I'll do that again too.  Because in the end, I know it's all worth it.  I would go anywhere to feel that loving embrace just one more time......

Family Chaos

Family Chaos

My mother, stepdad, and nephew arrived around noon today to help my brother get ready for his move.  In her typical fashion my mother immediately started talking about leaving the kids and going thrift store shopping with me.  It doesn't matter that I always decline saying that I like to get rid of junk, not bring it home.  She still asks.  She talked my brother into tagging along, and bribed my son by offering to buy him a toy.  

When they returned my mother came downstairs to help my brother pack, and he began unleashing a slew of stories from last night's going away party.  We had a barbecue, a bonfire (in my awesome new fire pit), and many friends and neighbors came to spend one last night with my brother before his big move.  I stayed up as late as I could stand, feeling more like a babysitter/mother to the lingering group of young men, before I finally succumbed to exhaustion around 4am.  My last words to them were, "Please don't burn my house down."

I guess they grew tired of searching for firewood after they had burned through the enormous pile I had for them.  Someone had the bright idea of raiding the vacant house next door.  This house has been sitting abandoned for years, and the city has finally posted notices on the door, calling it unfit to live in.  I've been saying they will probably tear it down, as it has been home to stray animals for so long it reeks of ammonia before you even get close.  

I asked my brother why my fire pit was full of metal coils, and he informed me they burned a mattress after I went to sleep.  Evidently they burned a dresser, a chest of drawers, and as many 2x4's as they could carry as well.  All this while intermittently giving each other rides in my son's wagon.  All this after 4am while the neighborhood slept.  

He apologized for letting my patio furniture sit too close to the fire, and contested that they hadn't realized how well that old dresser would burn. He showed me a picture if the flaming pit/dresser before telling me he needed me to follow him outside to survey the damage.  The patio furniture was fine, except for the cushions, which had  melted and shriveled from the heat.  I felt disappointed for a minute before I shrugged it off and chalked it up to memories they'll never forget.  About that time his friend text him saying, "I just woke up and went out to my truck.  I have a whole box of Playboy magazines in here that date back to 1970."  I guess they had an even wilder adventure than they remembered.  

The rest of the day has passed rather uneventfully, save the sounds of children bickering and throwing fits.  I feel like I've spent most of the time hiding out in my room or down in the basement.  My mother thrives in the chaos of a house full of people; I on the other hand, do not.  The evening is winding down, and while my brother darted out hours ago to say more goodbyes to friends, I have attempted to clean up.  I'm sitting on the porch now listening to them all arguing in the house over what food to snack on and what movie to watch.  I can hear my mother asking, "Where is your mother?"  And I can't decide if I should chuckle because I've snuck away again, or grimace because this means they'll find me soon.  

My son never napped today and his demeanor suggests he should have gone to sleep hours ago.  My mother has been talking about the latest medication her doctor has prescribed for symptoms she probably doesn't need to be mediated for.  Juliet, my daughter, has slipped into a mothering role as she scolds Romeo for sitting on the couch with an entire bag of chips instead if just filling a bowl.  More arguing about whether he should eat them from a bowl or a ziplock bag.  And now I hear them discussing the challenge of figuring out in what order everyone will shower.  Oh the dilemmas!  It's chaos.  And it's family.  And I just keep thinking, this too shall pass.....

"Hey Brother!"

Some of you might recognize that title line.  It's from Tony Hale, a.k.a. Buster, from Arrested Development.  I've found myself quoting that line to my brother a lot lately.  And mimicking Dwight from The Office, as I defiantly state, "Question," before leading into any question I have for him.  

My little brother moves out of my house Saturday.  I have felt our time winding down, and have sensed his tension and nervous anticipation of what is to come.  I'm more patient with him than I am with some people.  We get each other.  We've always seen each other for who we are.  

I remember the first time I ever felt like I truly bonded with him.  I must have been about 17, so he would have been 8.  I was busy living the life of a rebellious and deeply discontent teenager, and I can't say I had been giving him a whole lot of attention around that time.  We were talking, and although I can't remember where, I know we were in the last house we lived in as a family before my parents split.  My little brother asked me about the smelly stuff that was always drifting from my room, so I invited him in to pick out some incense to burn.  I'll never remember everything we talked about that day, and I'll never forget bonding with him over incense. Wrinkling up his nose and expressing a sour look, he asked me why I always listened to music with people screaming or making awful noises.  

Now, I thought that was funny.  But I also wanted to explain myself.  I told him not all the music I listened to consisted of what sounded like screaming, but most of the music had lyrics that spoke to me somehow, or sentimental value of some sort.  I'm not sure how long we sat there talking and listening to my favorite cd's, but it's a sacred memory of mine. I remember feeling as if I connected with my little brother on a more personal level for the first time that day.  I began to see him as a very impressionable little person.  

Later I would hold his hand and encourage him with words when our parents got divorced.  Then through our sister's death, his graduation, his first several years of college, and through his break up with his first love.

The last couple of years I have felt like he has been my shoulder.  We've taken turns leaning; changed roles if you will.  He's become quite adept at listening to a woman talk. Anyone who knows me well knows I can talk. I've become keenly aware of how he keeps the remote handy when I'm passing through the room.  That way, he can be quick to pause his show when I start talking. He's learned that once I start, if I have something weighing on me, it's going to be a while.  Mostly at night, after the kids have gone to sleep, and a lot more often since I've been going through this breakup.  

Plenty of my girlfriends say, "If only I was 10 years younger!"  He really will make quite the husband one day.  He helps out around the house, he's great with the kids, AND he's a great listener! There have been conversations when he has given me ten minutes  to finish my convo before it's his turn to speak.  But even that makes me smile because I know how I ramble when I get excited!

So I hate to see him go, but I am excited for him as well.  I can't wait to see where life takes him.  I'm grateful for the times we've had.  And I'm truly looking forward to the future.  New chapters are beginning in our lives, and although at times that can be scary, I welcome the change today.

Teenagers

Well, we made it through another day.  My daughter and I that is.  Another day of the teen years survived.  Geesh!  I remember my teen years, and I know my parents speak very unhighly of them.  I even expected challenges.  It's one of those things though that still catches you off guard for some reason.  Suddenly this young person thinks they know everything.  And I, being 33 years old, know nothing.  Yet she still asks my opinion.  "Mom, how do you like this outfit?  Does it match?"  I've learned to just say, "It's cute."  Any other response is met with a defensive barrage of statements and questions, and I'm left wondering why she asks me in the first place.  She wants my approval, not my opinion.

Last night she told my brother she would help him bring boxes in from his car.  We all trampled out to the car to bring in boxes, but my daughter never followed.  My brother voiced his surprise.  About that time I looked up to see Miguel, a neighborhood boy that my daughter is suddenly fascinated with, cruise by on his small bmx bicycle.  Hmmmm....

When we get inside my daughter exclaims, "What?!  You guys are already done?"  I asked her where she had been and she replied with, "I was brushing my hair."  Aha!  And then I did something I should know by now not to do I suppose, I said, "Ooooh, she had to brush her hair because Miguel is outside riding his bike."  With a big smile on my face and a satisfied nod of my head I looked at my brother with a twinkle in my eye.  We smiled together before we caught the look of disgust on my daughter's face as she quickly let us know Miguel had nothing to do with it.  In fact, she just doesn't like going outside with tangles in her hair!  At that she turned, stomped off, and slammed her bedroom door.  

I had to hold in my laughter.  I truly don't want to hurt her feelings, I'm just not so accustomed to tip-toeing around the truth.  Was I a ticking time-bomb like this at the tender age of 13?  Maybe I was.  Maybe all the passing years have wiped away the memory of emotions that fluctuated with every blink of the eye.  I do recall feeling like my parents weren't always too sensitive to my feelings, but I don't recall lashing out at them every time they uttered something I didn't agree with.  

I gave her a few minutes to cool off before I walked in and sat down next to her.  I apologized for hurting her feelings, and told her I wouldn't give her a hard time about Miguel anymore.  Again, she emphatically reminded me that it was about tangles; not Miguel.  Of course!  

I try to let my kids know that emotions are natural; it's what we do with them that counts.  It's ok to be angry.  It's not ok to take it out on everyone around you.  The world doesn't operate that way.  The world won't be kind to anyone who starts out swinging every time they get angry.  And I also hope my children strive to be people who cope with their emotions in a more positive manner.  Sometimes I tell them to take deep breaths.  Once I bought them some of those stand-up, inflatable punching bags with sand in the bottom.  I told them to wack them around if they got angry; work through the emotions.  The bags were lying lifeless, without air, on the living room floor by the end of the night.  The kids had punched them around all evening, and they were never even around for the "lessons in anger management" when we needed them.  

Regardless, I keep trying.  I keep reinforcing that there are kinder ways to get information across to people, and that words like please and thank you can go a long way; especially in the heat of the moment.  I encourage them to keep calm and not raise their voices.  And I try to do the same.  It's not always easy.  Sometimes we succeed, and sometimes we don't.  And I go to them and apologize if I have raised my voice or acted out in anger.  I let them know that I too struggle and fail.  I assure them that I love them, and that together we can work through things if we keep on trying.  

I don't apologize anymore though for the life they have.  I remember talking to a friend once about the guilt of being a single mother.  I would worry about having my daughter pitch in to help out with Romeo, or feel empathy for her living a life without her father present.  My friend had looked at me with surprise as she exclaimed, "Why would you apologize for that?!  We are all born into our unique lives, and we all have to learn to live with what we've got!  Your daughter is no different!"  Hmph.  That simple, huh?  Yeah, it was.  From that point on I decided to quit apologizing over certain things in life.  She was right.  I still let my daughter know that she can talk to me about any parts of her life she wants to discuss; but I quit apologizing for being the only parent in the house.  I've had talks where I have told her it sucks; for all of us.  But that it's surely better than what it would have been like if her father and I had stayed together.  We haven't been together since she was 5 months old, and his life since has been filled with unfaithfulness in relationships, time spent in and out of jails, drug rehabs, and who knows what else.  In other words, it's been a chaos we have been fortunate to be apart from.

I've had nights where I have cried when I have thought that I will have to live with someone for at least 5 more years who loves me one moment and hates me the next.  Someone who thinks I'm the world's greatest mom one moment, and the meanest mother ever the next.  But every night I go to sleep knowing that I love her, and that even if she doesn't understand it all today, some day she will look back and know that I really tried.  I never gave up on striving to be a more loving mother.  She'll know I made mistakes.  But she will also know I tried to learn from them.  In the meantime I'll just keep on loving her, keep on talking to her, and keep trying to live by example. 

Story Telling

We all have a story to tell.  We spell them out in our daily lives.  Mine would make a great book.  It only makes a great book if I continue to overcome conflict. Sure, there's been a lot of overcoming in my 33 years, but if I were to give up and throw it all out today, would any of it really matter?  And if my story told of a person who rarely, if ever, learned from their mistakes, who never grew.....would you even want to read  it?  We empathize with people who hurt like we hurt.  We are inclined to stop reading their stories when truths becomes lies; when they repetitively give up on overcoming in order to cling to familiar comforts.  It hurts.  It's sad.  And it's not a book you look forward to finishing.

In a great story, the main character takes risks.  They have dreams.  They falter like everyone else.  But they keep getting back up and chasing after their dreams.  They wrestle with experiences in life.  They grow in character, and their morals begin to take on an entirely new shape.  They move forward, staring down fears.  

There are most definitely parts of my story I'm not proud of.  I haven't always been very true to myself.  There are choices I've made that I can't take back.  Those often sting worse than the inevitable curve balls life has thrown my way; at least those were not of my own doing.  It makes them easier to swallow on some levels.  

How do you find grace to forgive yourself when your story isn't making any sense?  From where do you draw hope when your story feels too cumbersome?  What if you plan your story, and as it plays out it takes so many unexpected twists that you must turn to Plan B or Plan C?  What if you don't have a Plan D?  What's next?

When we learn to embrace the struggle, we are practicing self-love. We are loving ourselves right there in the context of our messy lives.  It's not saying, "I will overcome this or achieve that, then I will be content."  It's choosing to accept that you won't always be proud of yourself or the things you have done or not done.  And vowing to love yourself anyways.  It's exploring why you aren't satisfied and taking action to add or remove pieces of the equation.

I used to feel defeated when my story became wrought with conflict.  I wouldn't want to look in the mirror and see the person I had become.  I didn't hold up well under the pressures of life.  Sometimes I still catch myself falling prey to this kind of thinking and/or feeling.  It's easy to do when you are aware of your own weaknesses; and most of us are.

So what changed?  How did I learn to start living a better story?  Well, I always had hope; although some days I relied on other people to hope for me when I couldn't hope for myself.  And I learned about grace.  I learned that all of us have deep hurts that we try to tuck away into some dark corner of our hearts, all the while hoping they will remain lost in the shadows. And I started unpacking them.  It's a daunting task.

Imagine yourself sitting in an attic with stacks of old boxes covered in dust and full of memories.  Perhaps you have stared at the boxes each time you entered the attic, and each time you were overwhelmed by the nauseating feeling that began building up from the depths of your belly.   

One day in an act of courage you decide to start going through the boxes; one at a time.  Some days you find yourself laughing and smiling when you pull out articles from your past.  Other times you find yourself in tears as you come across things that stir up long forgotten dreams or reminders of what was, but is no more.  And you keep unpacking.  Maybe it takes you a month to get through a box.  Maybe it takes you a year.  You might have weeks when you won't feel as if you can even approach  the attic, because the last time you did old wounds were torn open, and they seared with pain as fresh air swept over them.

You might invite friends to unpack with you.  Some of them will turn you down.  Other days still, you will unpack by yourself, and in the solitude of that confined space you can open windows to feel a breeze.  And as you do, light will pour in.  You will see that the attic wasn't that scary after all.  There's a lot more room now too.  The lack of clutter is comforting, and invites you to relax.  

My attic keeps becoming easier to live with.  It feels more like a part of the house, rather than some dark place I try to avoid.  My accessible space expands and offers room for more.  More love.  More people.  More experiences.  I have to fight the urge to fill it with all the things my heart desires; and there are plenty of those.  But so many of them just take up space and begin to fill my house with clutter once again.  

I don't want that.  I want to keep unpacking.  I want to experience the joys in each box, even if it means walking through the sorrow each box holds as well.  And it's going to hurt.  I'm going to cry.  But I'll also laugh.  And every day I will learn to love more and more.  And trust.  And fully live.  

My story will be beautiful because I invite other people to read it.  We will laugh together.  We will cry together.  We will wonder and marvel and rejoice.  When I look back I will see all the joy and I will smile; because I engaged in the process.  I unpacked.  I got rid of the junk.  And I asked myself what treasures were really worth hanging on to.

It's a Freakin' Carnival Over Here

This roller coaster of emotions wears me thin.  I took a nap today and woke up remembering that I dreamed of crying; lying face down on the floor with my body shaking from sobs.  The pain of love lost wracked my body, and though the dream was over, the reality of it was not.  My children want my attention, and I try to give it.  Yet internally my heart is so torn I feel like I can't give them all of myself just yet.

Last night I was driving in my car when I heard a song by JJ Heller (hear it here) that lifted my spirits as peace settled over my being.  I felt whole; hopeful.  My story had value.  Then I was glancing through Instagram when I came across photos of my ex.  Suddenly I was no longer aware of peace; just sadness.  My mind began to spiral through questions like, "Where did we go wrong?  Where did I go wrong?  Why wasn't love enough?  Why does being a follower of Jesus set me apart and drive others away?"

Although I clearly see the answers to the swirling mass of questions and doubts, the sadness lingers.  It's fingers grip my heart and show no sign of letting up any time soon.  

When thoughts of reaching out to others fill my mind, truth whispers gently; reach out to the one who created you.  Only He can fill this God-shaped hole in your heart.  Only he can raise hope and love from the shattered pieces of a broken heart, and mold it into something more whole and beautiful than it was before.  

So I strive daily to keep my eyes drawn towards hope.  I cling to the idea that what lies ahead will be far greater than what lies behind me.  When thoughts invade telling me that love hurts too much to risk again, I acknowledge that if God is love, I cannot shut love out without shutting God out as well.  And I refuse.  However broken, however beaten down, I will continue to look up.  

I will trust even when pain grips my heart.  I will hope even when pain has knocked me face down on the floor.  And when I can't; when all I can do is mutter a feeble, "please" or "help," those words will be enough.  Because I believe; He intervenes.  Pain takes on a beautiful perspective.  My suffering has meaning.  And isn't that what we all want?  To know that our pain has purpose; it's not all for naught.

New Beginnings

My baby brother moved in with me in January when he graduated from college.  He didn't want to get tied into a lease because he had lofty goals of getting a job out of state.  It's been a joy having him around.  He makes a wonderful roommate; incredibly considerate and helpful around the house.  He has even been a great sounding board on days that have tried my patience.  

I have leaned on him during times of struggles, and he has leaned back when he has been at his w it's end in terms of his job searching.  His patience was wearing thin as letter after letter came in the mail declining him a position and wishing him luck in his search.  He would get excited when he would get phone calls for interviews.  Only to have his hopes dashed shortly after when he would get that infamous letter in the mailbox again.  Then it happened.  He was offered a position with the Minnesota Vikings to work on their film crew.  

I'm so happy for him.  I had encouraged him not to give up or settle; and he didn't. This job will further promote his skills in the field he truly wants to enter into; sports and film.  Ultimately he would like to work for a company like ESPN, and he is one step closer today than he was yesterday.

In the midst of my excitement for him, I've already begun to count the ways I will miss him.  I introduced him to the off road this last year, and he has been my bike riding buddy ever since.  He's great to have along out in the woods; his shouts for joy when he hurdles objects are contagious.  When I wouldn't feel like riding he would say, "Betty, I only feel like exercising twenty-five percent of the time I do it.  But I go anyways, and I am glad I did it one hundred percent of the time."  

I'll miss the way we giggle together over my son's antics and funny way of saying things, commenting on how Romeo could have his own reality show, he's so damn entertaining.  My cat has fallen in love with him, and I know he'll be at a loss when my little brother moves on.  My brother can't sleep on the couch anymore without Sammie the cat curling up as close as he can to his face.  My daughter will surely miss how he tells her, "You and I, we go together like peanut butter and jelly!" As he reaches out with a fist and tells her to pound it.

I feel like I'm losing my two best friends; all in the same month.  A smile plays on my lips and a sadness fills my heart when I think of snow sledding in the winter and I wonder if it will just be the kids and I next year.  I'm trying to keep my head up,  so I'm already thinking about a summer trip out his way to visit and check out bike trails in Minnesota.

This last weekend we went out for a couple of drinks to celebrate new beginnings.  While I sat at the bar at a local pub I caught his look when a man walked up to the bar and cast a glance in my direction.  After the man had left my brother informed me he had been waiting; he felt like the older brother for an instant.  He was on guard and ready to take a stand if that "douche-bag" had even so much as tried to hit on me.  His first course of action was going to be staring him down.  By the evening's end though, it was me looking out for him when he was grumbling about how he had been so close to going home with "some hot chick."  Not trying to burst his bubble, I reassured him she wasn't really "that hot," and I didn't think he was really missing out on much.

Times are changing, as they always do.  This season of our lives is coming to a close, which means new doors of opportunity are opening.  My emotions continue shifting, yet through it all I have a deep sense of peace.  The future is always full of uncertainty.....so we choose to keep hope in our hearts.  And hope prevails, time and time again....

Days Like These

Today has been more difficult than yesterday.  That familiar heaviness has come back to shroud my heart.  Simple comforts like a bike ride followed by a long, hot shower provide time for reflection and meditation; but the peace they provide is fleeting.

Today I feel old.  The ache in my heart so tremendous, I felt weak from the moment I first opened my eyes and crawled out of bed.  Days like these I have to eat, not because I want to, but because I know I need to.  Days like these I am filled with a need to pray more fervently.  My prayers sometimes feel more like groans than words, or look more like an enormous sigh reminding me to breathe.  

Emotions have shifted from sadness to anger, grief, peace, hope, joy, or doubt.  And surely a slew of other emotions in the mix as well, all tangled up in the chaos of my heart.  It's a process; a painful one.  And when I think about how I wish the pain could all be stripped away and avoided, I know I wouldn't really want to choose that.  It would seem easier, but as life continues to teach me, there's no way around the process;  I can face it now or choose to face it later.

And We Do

I love how a song can meet you right where you are at; lyrics spelling out a story as if it were your own.  My song this week is by Tenth Avenue North.  It's called "Worn."

You can hear it HERE 

I did something I said I would never do again; I dared to love another intimately.  I took a leap.  And I fell.  Maybe you wonder if he caught me?  Heck no, this ain't no fairy tale we live in; it's reality.  Mine came crashing down.  I have a tendency to be rebellious.  We all do.  We want to lash back when we've been hurt.  We want to do things our own way.  And we can.  So we do.  The same rebellion that leads us to fight for justice can also blind us to ourselves.

Well, I fell in love quickly.  I believed it was meant to be.  I put aside my deepest desires to chase after it.  I learned a lot.  I grew.  And I remembered some long forgotten truths.

We are all free to choose to believe in whatever we wish.  And I choose love. And I believe God is love.  And I believe that he wanted us to experience a loving relationship with him that is intensely personal.  I also believe he placed that same desire in our hearts.  Yet our free will and lack of belief in things we cannot see coaxes us to find other things or endeavors to satisfy that desire.  And we do.

I find myself wanting to pull away from the "we do," and live a life that says, "I do."  It's a commitment to never give up.  It's a promise to stand true in love.  It's the hope that picks you up when you feel like you have fallen down.  It's the truth that life is not a collection of failures and successes; rather a beautiful adventure with another comprised of pain and beauty.

I have yet to ever say, "I do" to any man in my life.  I have however said "I do" to a man who lived and died long before I was ever conceived.  His name was Jesus.  I like to believe that God loved  us so much that he chose to join us on earth.  And he did.  Since God is not a being, he was still here and there and everywhere.  Yet a piece of him became a man and walked with us, felt with us, talked with us, healed us, and drew us into a relationship with him.  Our struggle to believe what we cannot see was given hope; to believe in something we could see.  But many still chose to remain skeptical; and still do.

We yearn for certainty; all the while craving the mystery called love.  But love requires risks.  And we are afraid.  Afraid to say yes.  Afraid to say no.  Afraid to commit to "I do."  What if this?  What if that?  Oh the doubts that creep in....how they can overwhelm.

When I met the man I fell in love with, I thought we shared a passion; we both loved riding bike trails.  It didn't take long for me to realize he only rode one trail.  So hand in hand we set out in search of new trails.  I had a wish list; we shared a desire to explore new territory.  And we did.

Along the way we began to face trails with more technically difficult terrain.  In our relationship we began to do the same.  As the winter carried on and snow continued to come down, we rode together less and less.  I still had a desire to explore new territory. And I did.  He went back to just riding the one trail he knew best.  Conversations turned to text messages.   Trust became intertwined with doubts.  Boundaries became fuzzy.  And we stopped riding together.  We stopped seeing eye to eye.

We realized that though we both loved to ride, we each favored a different kind of trail.  Then we decided to ride our separate ways.  The trails I like to ride aren't appealing to everyone.  You don't have to love Jesus to be my friend, but I  can't enter into a sacred union with one  who doesn't share this love; because it is central to how I choose to live.  My love for him permeates who I am and what I live for.  His love is why I exist.  And I can't deny that.

I entered into a relationship with this guy believing that if love does conquer all, then we could make it work by setting our different ideals aside.  And we did.  But we couldn't.  Because they aren't just ideals; at least not for me.

My faith is a light that guides me.  Though  the road looks narrow, the view once you pass the trail-head and pedal across rugged ground....it's awe-inspiring.  The vastness of the land surrounding the trails humbles me with it's colorful and majestic landscape, and invites me to come back for more.  It offers promise.  It gives me courage and confidence when I have none of my own left to summon.  It awakens the deepest places of my soul and tells me that although at times I will feel broken,  love will make me whole.  So I give myself to this love.  And it mends in a way that time does not.  I offer my life to the one who gave his life for me.   For ME.  And you.  And I say, "I do."

Beauty is in the eye of the Beholder

Like an old bureau cast on the side of the road

I was found

I've been stripped down and redone

There is pain in the process

I try to force the artist to go against the grain

Stubborn drawers don't want to open up

Bitter splinters are shaved away

The result is always beauty

But not everyone values antiques

And a varnish polished on the outside doesn't penetrate or last

From my core though, I know I am made for more than this

And I will trust that

Because what comes from within is much more mighty than what my critics might suggest 

Burning Bridges

My heart has been a wreck.  I feel like i have spent more time searching for a fix than trusting.  Today I rode a trail.  I started out clumsy, slipping often because I was too afraid to go over rocks with enough speed to make it to the other side.  Sometimes we come upon things we can't speed across when we don't have momentum built up. 

 I often feel like I have an audience when I ride a busy trail.  It takes a good stretch of riding before I realize I don't really care who is watching; I just want to ride hard!  

When I remember that I also remember I can have just an audience of one if I so choose.  A war has been waged in my heart, and now I know who is on my side.  

I heard a sermon today about fear.  The pastor asked , "What do you believe people fear more than anything?"  A tally of results gave way to a myriad of answers.  Some confessions of honesty nearly brought tears to my eyes.  Like divorce and nursing homes.  Other sarcastic responses like spiders and democrats had the crowd sharing in fits of laughter.  

The number one response surprised me; it was death.  The remainder of the sermon spoke of this fear, yet my heart felt stuck.  It was as if a fist had clenched my heart, it was so full of pressure with no place to let it go.  Fear.  I thought, "I don't fear death.  Not like I fear love." 

This thought began to twist my heart like a crumpled sheet of paper.  I was sure I couldn't fake it. I just knew if anyone looked into my eyes they would see me crying out.  They would see my heart screaming in fear.  If I am afraid to love, how will I ever love myself?  How will I ever love others?  I felt myself in a panic on the inside.  I started going through motions although I felt like falling to my knees.  I hurt.  I felt sick.  

I have felt this coming on.  It's a slow change, because I fight it.  So today I rode out the feelings on the trail.  In my frenzy of thoughts and rocks littering my path I felt sloppy; I felt like quitting.  Today wasn't my day.   I kept thinking, "I don't know how to love. Not adequately; not like others deserve."  

I believe God wants us to love.  I want to love him, myself, and others.  Today when I kept thinking, "I can't do this," I also heard, "I know."  Like a thought that's been whispered in my ear; because it certainly didn't come from me.  And then I heard, "But I can."  

When I began to trust that God can and will take care of the details, that I no longer need to worry about them myself, I began to soar.  The trail ride became an adventure.  I felt a spiritual presence around me and within me.  I kept thinking, "Trust God.  Trust God." And when I would wonder, what does that look like?  I remembered the gospel.  I remembered accounts of the life of Jesus.  And it was as if I were hearing it all again for the first time.  I wanted to shout with joy!  I wanted to giggle with my children.  All my worry melted away.....and I felt like a new person; ready to face a new day.  I felt whole and unashamed.  I felt loved when God met me right where I was....on a trail somewhere out in the woods.

Trust Issues

I go through life like I ride my bicycle on trails.  I crash and I fall somedays; but I always get back on the bike.  Typically I even feel more determined to tackle the challenges of the trail.  Some days I get up and say, "This trail is not kicking my ass today."

I learn so much about myself from riding.  It inspires confidence and provides time for meditation.  When life feels like a burden I can recall obstacles I have faced on the trails.  I remember how I have persevered and continued trying until I tackled each place I have struggled to get past.

Some obstacles I have conquered, only to falter in the same place another day when my confidence seems weak and thin.

Some days I soar across rough terrain with my mind's eye on a destination and a fierceness in my heart.  I'm bold.  Not fearless, but unrestrained by fear.  Purpose fuels my inner core.  I leap over obstacles with shouts of joy.

Other days those same obstacles growl at me with a menace and shake my vulnerable heart.  They leave me rattled.  I question my strength and ability.  

In life I find parallel truths.  When I keep my eyes wide open I stay on my feet.  When I begin watching my feet I falter and stumble.

How many times will I learn the same lessons?  I've been speaking of this thought for years; only to speak of it again like it's a new experience.  

Oh inconsistent me.  When will I allow myself  the freedom to let go and love me for me?  In all that I am and all that I have been?   Forget loving the future masterpiece; I want to learn to love my work in progress.

Today on a trail I kept thinking about how I need to trust myself more.  Suddenly God spoke and said, "Or you could just trust me.....and I'll show you how."

Social Networking

I set my 13 year old daughter up with a Facebook account this last year.  It wasn't long before it was the only activity she wanted to spend her evenings doing.  Then she began to snap self portraits and post them.  And excitedly exclaim  over the number of likes she would get.  Or become sad and insecure when she didn't get many likes.

I myself realized that I tended to compare myself to others on Facebook some days.  If my day seemed drab the happy posts of others left me feeling as if my own life kind of sucked.

I too began to look forward to the pictures I could post that portrayed the exciting parts of my life.  But I never wanted to post about the difficult times.

I tucked the iPad away in my closet this week (my 4 year old's favorite past time).  I deleted my daughter's and my own Facebook account as well.  Some days I forget and start to look for Facebook on my phone, only to be reminded that it's no longer there.  

Then I get to remind myself all over again that I want more.  I want to find solace in God's love; not whether or not others think my life events are appealing.  I want to get up off my butt and ride my bike.  I want to put my phone down and talk to my kids at dinner.  I want to ask myself the tough questions; not avoid them because they are painful and trying.  I want to be challenged; not become bound by complacency.  I want to be an original character; not a collection of other people's ideals.

I hope my children will also learn the beauty of seeking truth as well.  Though they may question my decision today (and tomorrow and the next day), I believe the sacrifice will also lend time to pondering who they really are.  They will be bombarded with ideas about what that looks like from their peers, society, marketing campaigns, etc.  Taking one factor out of that equation may not seem like it would be worth much, but I believe that every well-intended thought counts for something.

Although I may miss sharing things with friends and family via Facebook, I also know I'll be picking up my phone to personally update them more often.  In the end, I believe I'll start building deeper relationships with the people who matter the most to me.  So is it worth it?  Absolutely......

Gray Matters

I've been told my faith is rigid

And the blow knocked me on my ass

Eleanor Roosevelt said, " No one can make you feel inferior without your consent."

In terms of that statement I have consented.  Then resented.

My faith doesn't feel rigid; it feels liberating.  It feels like love.

Yet it asks me to lay down my desires in order to have my needs met.

Giving up what we want most for what we need most is a challenge.

One many people scoff at because it looks like a ball and chain from the outside I hear.

On the inside it feels like a genuine sacrifice.

And sacrifices don't come easy.

They require intense devotion and discipline.

They hurt.  They lead us to question.  They lead us to doubt.  

And sometimes they walk us right into temptation.

Other times still they spur others to ridicule or question our decisions.

What then?  The bible speaks of turning the other cheek.

Are these the times we submit to that response?

What does love look like in the face of adversity?

The world is full of gray matter, and I am caught somewhere in the in-between.