{it's ok}

I spent most of my morning the other day crying on the couch. It was actually a cry of relief. The kind of cry you have when that loved one who was in a perilous situation made it out ok, and maybe even better than before. That near death moment that you escape last second and unscathed (for the most part) kind of cry. I realized both are true, because I feel like I have spent three years watching my spirit die, my soul shrivel up, and my life fade from being any sort of promising kingdom changer. And yesterday, I saw all three escape in the nick of time. Mostly unscathed, somewhat ragged and leaving me asking myself how I got here.

 In the midst of a season of longing for answers, seeking clarity, and almost resorting to talking to myself in the mirror in hopes that it is another person and they will respond in the deafening silence, I am beginning to see it's ok.

Clarity and knowing can steal the joy from  life. And in the gap where joy and peace should reside we  fill it with other thing to define ourselves by. In the longest of silences, I have never shut up enough to actually listen. But clarity isn't the point. Clarity isn't the journey, it isn't the adventure, not the story I have been invited to be a part of. Knowing only means I know, but it cannot complete me in any way.

Something about 24-25 opens and closes so many of the doors I imagine in the hallways of my mind. The insecurities of adolescence seem to drift away, distant and foreign, but are replaced by the insecurity of definition. When you're 18 it seems who you are becoming is an adventure full of joy and discovery. As you grow older, the pressure builds to have an answer, to define yourself by what you do and who you know. To define yourself by success in numbers, knowledge and direction. Discovering the world around you is no longer a journey, but a daunting task to complete that is full of haunting insecurities and is like chasing the light. You'll never arrive.

It's ok.

In some ways, my desperate attempts to figure it all out has made me whore myself out to every cause, Biblical teaching, mission organization, job possibility, creative idea, and new fad that has popped into my range of vision. I find myself grabbing at anything and everything that promises definition, security and fulfillment. I pride myself in things that, in my pathetic definition of adulthood, make me look smart, put together and wedge myself right into that dark little place of allowing everyone, everything, and every word shake, shatter and re-define me. In all of this; in opening every beckoning door, in seeking to define myself standing alone and strong, I have never been more weak.

I have collected definitions for myself, like a creepy hoarder, stealing and hiding thing after thing, job after job, word after word, friend after friend to tell me who I am. Tell me where I should be. I keep yelling at God to shut up but stay close. That I don't believe Him but I can't let Him leave. I keep asking for what I want, but never acknowledging that I actually have NO idea what I want, or what I even need.

And so I cried yesterday, because after months of building bitterness as walls around my crumbling spirit. After spending months holding it together, trucking through life, snapping at everyone, and freaking out internally on a regular basis like a spaz, I froze.

I shut up.
I quit running.
I gave up.
I quit trying so hard.
I gave up trying to figure all this stupid annoying stuff out.
I gave up asking. Wanting, dying in the worst way I can.
I shut up and said, I can't. Not anymore. I just. Can't. Do. It.
I just don't care about any of this anymore...I just don't. And I can't make myself...

 I froze for a second of time and said out loud: "God. I can't do this. I am pressing the reset button. Can we start over?" I know i can't erase what has lead me here, but I can clear the battle field. Of the things that are strewn across it, I can take out the parts that don't mean anything, that draw my attention, that subtract instead of add. And I can be renewed. Isn't that what starting over is? It is never forgetting, just clearing the battle field. It is re-starting, re-kindling.

And I cried because of this...words that are  drawing me back in with the wonder, the beginning when I first stepped out into all of this. Gently, freely and refreshingly.

I was never dying, I was changing. I know it isn't over, I am not foolish enough to think this is the end. I am not foolish enough to believe I will understand, or gain some ounce of knowledge. I am not foolish enough to believe that this is all gone, solved in one small moment. But I am just foolish enough to believe things are changing, that God is beckoning me, and maybe just maybe He is inviting me back in a new way, a way that celebrates instead of despises me. I am just foolish enough to believe that...

it's ok.

"I am the Lord your God...

I go before you now.

I stand beside you,

I'm all around you.

Though you feel I'm far away

I am closer than your breath

I am with you more than you know.

I am the Lord your peace,

No evil will conquer you

So steady now your heart,

come into my rest. 

{why I burp, forget to shower, and adore flowers}

I loath fake things. A part from my years of obsession with Barbie and Ken's awesome relationship, created by none other than myself and my scary little imagination, I cringe in the presence of human plastics.

My distaste for human plastics has caused me to go a bit overboard...but more on that later.

What, you may be pondering to yourself, is human plastics? No, I am not thinking of lifesize barbie, rubber bands, or any type of prosthetic. I am not even referring to the ever popular lunch mate Tupperware. What I mean by human plastics are the people who, at some point much like me, created a comfy little plastic shell for themselves. One that projects what they perceive others want them to be, want from them, or think makes for a successful, stable, and well-rounded human functioning in the world.

Human plastics like to dance around issues like they are a fire and we are all cavemen, incapable of saying what we need to communicate in any way other than scowls and smiles. That is until we can't take it anymore and we get angry and start brandishing our clubs at one another.

And for some reason, though I have been trained by a culture that continues on this weird merry-go-round of not actually talking about anything and viewing vulnerability as weakness, I have managed to put my club down and hop off.

I don't mean to sound judgmental, so if it seems that way, I apologize, but, I just can't have one more conversation that doesn't mean anything. I can't dance around the fire and never have a REASON to have the fire in the first place. I can't only communicate by holding my tongue and scowling. And it makes me cringe to see other people caught in a place where allowing themselves to be a window is unacceptable.

As much as we like to say we are learning to be who God created us to be, or we are figuring it all out, usually what we mean to say is: "We're all just trying to manage the tension between hiding most of what we are; what we are passionate about and what makes us feel really alive, and looking the part we are expected to in our cultural norm. No matter what part of the culture we are talking about, it usually sounds something like that. Whether American business culture, family culture, church culture...we're always working so hard at fitting in, being unnoticeable, and not rocking the boat so that people believe we are under control and good citizens who recycle and appreciate people who shave on a regular basis. (side note: I acknowledge this is an extreme statement, and I am not saying standards are necessarily bad, in fact some are really awesome!)

We spend so much energy trying to be "well-rounded" that we end up becoming confused or bland. We lose spark, we lose touch with ourself and our God. We feel forced into some kind of a plastic shell, no matter where we are, and when we speak out against it, we are considered crazy, ungrateful, un-balanced, too emotional. But rarely ever is this act of defiance against the expectations considered a beautiful picture of someone really working to be who God has called them to be. Rarely is this seen as encouraging, or inspiring. Not until it pays off...in the very end. We envy and adore the people who manage to do this. I know I do...

I have such a deep need for you to know me, but mostly to allow you room to feel safe to be KNOWN.

And because I so desperatly want people to be FREE in Christ (now don't confuse this with doing what you want. Freedom in Christ, I believe gives us our identity which then causes us to be obedient and submissive to our God, which in turn gives us true freedom in our identity....etc etc. This is the merry-go-round I want to be on...) I sometimes overcompensate with excessive and unnecessary vulnerability. But I want people to flourish, and open themselves up so badly. I want people to love God in a way that inspires others, instead of making others want to take a nap of join a gang of cavemen.

So I burp, loudly. Long and drawn-out-like. Man-bear like. In public, with lots of people listening. I drink beer(s). And I'm a fan of not showering...in moderation of course. But I also love flowers...I love beauty and art. I love honesty, wherever I can find it. In color, nature, humor, and in dirt, burping and flowers. I love to defy what people expect from me, a white, middle class, twenty something living in a nice neighborhood, working at a church, married....I want there to be more to ALL of us than just that.

It's like trying to look in a window, but someone wallpapered it with magazine pictures and words that have nothing to do what's inside. I just want to punch in the window and get to the inside. I want to see what's on the inside. And I will burp until you let me...

how we should feel about snow in November...

{because today is all we have}

my love,

because today is all we have, I want to be reminded why I chose you if we get tomorrow.

we fought the other day. we big time fought. we "almost-slept-on-the-guest-bed" fought. we wrestled up every last ounce of energy from our wits end, our long days, our deep need to simply just be with each other and our frustrations, and we word-vomit fought.

but today I am glad. today I am thankful for that fight.

Today I was reminded that at 17, the year before I met you, I had no intention of loving anyone...ever. I was reminded of my distrust, my independence, my ability to hide behind flirting, non-committing, and humor. but you saw through that...

today I saw our memory box, and the book of photos I made you from our first year.

I saw the 3-D glasses we have from our date to Meet the Robinsons. I saw the pages upon pages of letters you wrote to me. I found the pipe cleaner heart you made and hung from my rearview mirror when you borrowed my car freshman year. I found the tickets you made me for our first christmas, the ones that looked just like real Wicked Tickets. Only we didn't go that year, remember? We forgot...so we went when we got married three years later instead. My heart felt full, whole, and light.

Two days ago we drove home from you mother's house, and we listened to the playlist I made especially for us. Well, it was really for me. Because music+how much I love you+giddy feelings in the first year=feeling like I was literally the luckiest most loved girl in the world and nothing would ever make me sad again.

We listened to the song I first put on repeat (much to my roommate's dismay) when I began to fall in love with you. And I remembered the scariness of wanting to be with someone so much but the fear of it not being reciprocated. The fear of you finding me out and changing your mind, but in my heart knowing you were like the little bear's porridge: just right.

We listened to our first dance song from our wedding. I remember that day how LONG that dance felt! We didn't like everyone staring at us, because you, like me, would rather have our friends surrounding us in the fun than watching us have it. I remember knowing that I had never met someone who loved people more than me until I met you. I remember knowing I had never met someone more peaceful and kind than you.

And I remember how easy it was to trust you...

that had never happened to me before.

So I am glad we had that fight. Because it means I still trust you, possibly more now than ever. I let you see my uglies...and me super uglies. It means we still believe we are worth fighting FOR. It means that I know, in the deepest part of my heart, you love me with unconditional love that blows me away. Love I could never earn or deserve, so I feel safe. And I trust you.

And it means you will never let me sleep in the guest room, becuase at the end of the day, we are still one. Even when we may not want to be.

so...because today is all we have, I wanted to remind you why I chose you, even in the middle of a fight....

{i want to be a giver of life}

I want to be a life giver not taker. I want to enrich and nurture, not drain and dry. 

I want just a small portion of that piece of Jesus to pour out of me everyday. 

I want to touch things and watch them heal, not break them and watch them whither. 

So today I pray that I am a giver of life.

"If there is still sin to any degree in one who is indwelt by the Holy Spirit, then there is tension, yes, contradiction, within the heart of that person.

Indeed, the more sanctified the person is, the more conformed he is to the image of his Saviour, the more he must recoil against every lack of conformity to the holiness of God.

The deeper his apprehension of the Majesty of God, the greater the intensity of his love to God, the more persistent his yearning for the attainment of the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus, the more cautious will he be of the gravity of the sin which remains and the more poignant will be his detestation of it."

-John Murray (paragraphing John Piper @ Desiring God)

{of which I am afraid}

For some reason I have spent most of my life poised, ready, clenching my body into a steel statue of fake bravery, ready for the worst. And the rest of the time that I am not attempting to mutate into a Hummer or a tank (Transformer style) I am attempting to medicate and numb my fear with a variety of "oh so healthy" fillers and things.

For as long as I can remember, I have never been able to be alone. Not with God, not with myself, not with a mouse, not in a house, not on a boat, not with a goat... (copyright Dr. Seuss). Being the youngest, you would think I was blessed with permanent playmates, but no. I ended up desperately fending for myself most days, to try and win friends. When left alone, I would create my own friends. No, not imaginary or invisible friends. My stuffed animals, duh. They became my children, my students in my school, my friends, my companions. I created a world of imagination where people who always liked me existed. Where I was meaningful. Where I was never, ever alone.

My family knew, without a doubt, I was starving for attention. Mostly because I am a born performer/creativist with a deep need for approval and conversation. Also because the worst thing they could ever do to me was put me in time out. I doubt I have ever been more depressed than the five minutes I spent alone with my moms creaky wooden chair and blue wallpaper. You might even say this was the darkest "hour' of my life.

Being told to go play by myself was like sentencing me to a desert with no water or sandals. Painful, desolate, and seemingly stretching time into an eternity.

The other day, a friend of mine asked me a question that struck this chord, then plucked at it and played it for quite some time. It keeps haunting me because, I think I already knew the answer deep in my heart.

"What would it be like to just be alone with God?"

I stammered. I spluttered. I attempted to use my gift of words to make up some crappy fake answer. Take note that this came after a period of mandatory 5 minute silence. This was a rough outing for me. 

I couldn't answer. I had nothing. Well...that isn't true. I didn't want to answer. Because I knew, all along, that being alone meant there was an opportunity to be "found out". And there is nothing I fear more than people really knowing me in my deepest, scariest parts. 

Being alone means there is empty space for my brain to expand, and if any of you know anything about me, my brain confined is already scary enough. It doesn't need any room, because giving it room is like letting a wild horse that was taken captive run free again. Rampaging, scary, afraid, determined to run down any form of reason.

Allowing my brain room to expand means thinking. Thinking means fixating. Fixating means anxiety. Anxiety means self-loathing. Self-loathing means destructive behavior and anger. Anger means pushing people away because, in reality, I know I am not so great.

Anger means being honest with God about who I am and what I think. Anger means there are things that I do that God hates, and sometimes things I know I should be doing that I am not. 

Allowing my brain to expand means self-examination, confession and repentance, change, and needing grace. It means admitting things I can't do, and apologizing for when I try. It means really facing the pieces of myself that absolutely disgust me. It means staring anxiety itself in the face. It means looking at fear and trying to say "I don't believe you" (when I secretly still do...). It means acknowledging the ways I have let people down, fallen short, hurt the ones I love the most, and sinned outrightly against the will of my one true love; God. 

So you see, being alone is the thing I fear the most, because of the place it leads me. 

Although I will forever be a people lover, needer, obsessor for life, although I will ALWAYS be more energized by talking, relating, and just plain being with people; a small part of me knows that there is a piece to that which comes from my deepest fear. 

So maybe I need to learn how to give myself adult time-outs. Maybe I need to take my toe over that self-inflicted line and step into my fear altogether; to learn to be alone with God. 

when things change.

I am self admittedly a lover of all things change.

I love fall. Not only because of the much needed relief from Indiana humidity that pastes the very wind to my skin like a wet suit. But because I get to watch leaves change brilliant and unashamed colors of red, gold, yellow and orange. I get to watch trees transform and shed for the coming winter months.

I usually get antsy about once every three months. Antsy for something to be different. This will often result in a hastily made hair dye decision. Or disaster. Take your pick. Or it involves rearranging the furniture. Or starting a craft (usually never finishing it).

I take long drives, and usually end up creating new ways home just so I don't feel so stuck. Sometimes I purposefully miss my house just to keep driving and feel like I am doing something different.

I always try to find new places to eat, drink, and be merry. You know, the usual cliche.

I get bored easily, especially with routine. Mundane, normal life. Details. Schedules. These all make my eyelids want to pick up a match and set themselves on fire. If they had hands, I am convinced that somedays they would actually do this. Fortunately for my eye balls, as well as the rest of my body, they do not.

I can always be depended on to change the plan. To live in spontaneous land, ruled by feelings and whims. Some call it flaky, I call it life.

But recently I have began to see that as much as I live and thrive in the chaos of indecisive whimness (yup, just made it a word)...there is one place that picks at my very heart when it comes to change. One place that takes every ounce of flexibility, understanding, love and patience. Things that usually come natural, but in this one place are more rare than unicorns.

I never. Ever. Know what to do as people change.

Weird, right? Alien life form weird. Talk about a punch in my brains face. I, the queen of cool, the master of go with the flow, the ruler of the land of indecisive and change. I, the least likely to have a plan, the most likely to wing it and rebound in flying colors. The best on the spot decision maker and non-regretter. I don't know how to live while the people around me change.

I wish I could say I am all calm and supportive and positive. That I root for it, encourage it and love it. That I celebrate it with every turn. That I want to write songs to it and make it a cute hat for christmas.

But I hate when change comes knocking on my door in the form of people I love.

I suddenly get awkward. I lose all social skills. I revert to the verbal competency of a four year old and can't find my way out of my own shell-shocked brain. Ridiculous. People change. They should. It is beautiful and good and lovely and healthy. I know this, because it has been for me. But...I can't ever get to this place with other people.

I want to hold on so badly to memories. To special moments and inside jokes. I want to take the love, the fun, the bond, the timely words, the connection of souls, the conversations, and just bottle them up in a Ziploc to carry with me permanently. I want to freeze time on friendships as badly as I wish I didn't know Katie Perry exists. And that is an intense wanting.

This realization struck me as so freaky that I tried, for a long time, to fix the part of my brain that wasn't quite up to speed with the rest of the wheels making it work. I tried to be able to come and go like other people. To be a constantly open or revolving door. To let people come in when the time was right...and to let the relationship revolve into something different and equally as beautiful when the time was right.

I think my revolving door just keeps getting stuck. Or maybe I keep sticking a rock in it just big enough to stop it from moving all together. Then the people inside freak, feel incredibly uncomfortable and suffocated, and at the first sign of freedom run screaming.

I hold on too tightly to security in friendships. I hold to tightly to "how things are". When you grow up like me, sometimes you begin to feel like you can't count on anyone. You begin to feel like everyone who is supposed to hold you will let you fall, but not just sometimes and on accident; all the time on purpose. Life can't be summed up with contrite phrases like "no one is perfect and everyone will fail you." Mostly because that translates as "sometimes people mess up." True, but for me, it felt comparatively bigger than that. Like every single moment of my life was ruled by this failure.

I'm not saying this as an emo tastic feel bad for me, I want attention, woe is me, my life is awful thing. To be honest, my life is cake and gummy bears compared to a lot of other people.  I just think I finally understand why my crazy brain can't let people change.

When I found people who I let in. Whom I began to trust with all of me.  I found others who I would let hold pieces of me at a time, and with tightly held breath, I waited and waited for the pain of rejection to come. It didn't. And thus began the creation of a new kind of family in my heart. I have held tightly to this ever since, my heart begging for the home it found in the souls of others I have come to know and love so, incredibly much.

But I hold a little to tightly. I lean a little to hard. I squeeze a little to much. Like a helicopter parent, I hover and need and beg for others to call me family, too. To need friendship like I do. And I know I am trying to rest in all the wrong places.

My heart is big and full and dying to love way too much. But when people change, I get so scared. I get scared that I ruined everything. I get scared that the link in our souls has been broken, irreparably. I get scared that I am going to fall down again...just like before. And  I quickly snatch everything I gave them right back into the deadbolt safe around my heart and lock it fast, before anymore love or truth can escape.

It is no one's fault but mine. No one deserves my crazy idea of friendship and neediness to gnaw on their lives all day.

So...in all my love of change, the one constant that is like crack to me is people. It isn't fair to anyone, not even me. But I am just trying to love with  my hands open and my heart off of lock down.

I am not there yet. I don't know if I will ever arrive. But this year, I am going to try and let the fall teach  me a thing or two about the beauty, not the fear, of change. Change in the things nearest and dearest to our hearts.