The beginning of the end

I met one of my best friends in college.  We were thrown together by the luck of a dorm room draw.  But, luck didn't keep us together. Forging did.

Even though I only attended college with her for one year, and it was BC (Before cellphones or computers), we were constant pen pals.  We were kindred spirits -- so much alike. (We marry opposites, but aren't our deepest friends more like us than not?)

After her wedding while I was still single, our relationship changed.  She had "the one" and her time was spent cultivating her marriage garden, and rightly so. Our relationship wasn't a priority. Or, maybe I was just too needy, like a nasty dandelion weed pushing my way in and around everywhere.  Who knows. Either way, rocky days prevailed. When I married three or four years later, she wasn't in my wedding party as I had been in hers.  But, she was there in the background. That movement towards me was the start of the renewing of our friendship. After I had a child and while she struggled with fertility, our friendship waned again. I was heartbroken, but truth be told I was cultivating the family garden and I was a prickly thorn, piercing her unintentionally along the way.

Years later, after Harrison was born, we reconnected. Both of us "settled in", and with the advent of technology to help, we were able to stay better connected. Today our friendship is stronger than ever. I love what Ann Voskamp says:

"Friendships never just happen — they are forged."

There were times when one of us didn't "forge" and we hurt the other. Fortunately for us, it went both ways. We were able to forgive the other because we'd done the same. We figured out our relationship was important and we both began to forge. 

It takes two people forging to do the friendship tango.

(that's a Cathy original.  Ann Voskamp, you can use it if you want)

Harrison is about to learn about forging for a friendship, and I'm about to be given a chance to forge differently in this season. 

Julie and I were co-workers at Capin Crouse.  She was an auditor, much younger than me and she traveled frequently for her job, meeting new people in each city and landed just long enough to turn in her expense report, have dinner with a group of friends, and fly off again. We were friendly co-workers, but nothing more.  Thirteen years ago, about the time I was leaving Capin Crouse, she and her new husband moved to Franklin.  Slowly her Sunday night soups won me over and we became friends... many would say best friends.

Our boys have grown up together and despite not going to school together, would say they are "best friends".  When Julie introduces me to someone who doesn't know me or our connection, she'll always tell the story of Harrison figuring out that it was odd that he and Oscar are best friends because so are their Moms. Julie and I unofficially appointed them "best friends" at Harrison's birth 11 months after Oscar's, but they've grown into the role at their own choice -- fighting and loving like biological brothers. Oscar has spent more nights at our house than any house except his own in the past 11 and a half years.

And, like our sons, over the years there has been plenty of fighting and loving -- like biological sisters for Julie and I. We've always been there for each other.  And, when I say "there" I mean within a half mile of each other in our small town -- a stone's throw away, as they say. 

I'm her Yoda -- always there to provide big sister advice whenever she wants it, and many times just when she needs it.  We've share the "lovebird" special at the movies - the movies our husband wouldn't appreciate.  We've known each others kitchen and shared many meals together. We've vacationed together and studied God's word together. When I've needed a spot for extra family members, it's her house. When she's needed a place to drop her kids for four days, it's my house. When I've needed to borrow fancy china, or a serving bowl, she's been my first call. 

She's an extrovert, and I am not.  She's the life of any party and always has too many things/people on her plate (ahem - well, that's this introvert's belief -- one she wouldn't share).  I stick close to those I know. She's a home-schooling Mom who opened a toy store. Then, when she decided to be a career woman again, she set her heart on the French toy company she wanted to work for and strategically placed herself where she'd get noticed and win her dream position. I'm happy in my small home office with the clicking of the keyboard as I support the financial needs of others and tend to my small (but important) world. 

In nine days the Wells' time in Franklin ends as they move to Ft. Lauderdale Florida for her career. These last nine days are the beginning of the end of this Franklin chapter, of living life together in real life.

Technology will make it easier to keep in contact - but we all know it will be oh so different. Our boys won't go to proms together or share impromptu play dates or sleepovers.  I won't be able to call Julie up when the latest chick flick comes out and say "want to share a lovebird special at 10 pm?"  When I throw a party, I'll have to beg extra kitchenware from another friend. It's all slowly been changing for a while as we grow and mature differently, but this is really the beginning of the end of this period in our life. 

For the extroverted Wells' it will be relatively unnoticeable in the warmth of the Florida sun, as they spend weekends together bicycling the short path to the beach. They, after all, are moving to a city with new adventures, new friends, beautiful weather, and the Atlantic Ocean as their backyard. We are left here with a large hole in our Franklin life. 

Tomorrow night our families gather one last time to break bread -- or, in our case chips and salsa. We'll laugh and we'll cry as we share the albums I created for the boys of their lives to date.  We'll remember. And, ultimately, I know, it will end with a promise to "forge" on to keep our friendships going. 

It's the beginning of the end of this chapter.  What happens in the next depends on the forging --- the forging work of four individual people in two unique relationships. Two moms and two sons. In our case:

                 It takes four people forging to do the friendship tango.

40 year sabbatical

God's been working on me for sometime. But, often I catch myself saying "I've been a Christian for longer than I can imagine", it sounds like I'm so ready to accept my crown and move on, like what more could I learn?  But, the reality is as we mature in life, we should mature in Christ.  

This, I believe is my mid-life crisis (a God-approved mid-life crisis -- hopefully better than buying a red corvette convertible and wearing skimpy clothes while driving it around town all summer; sorry for the visual).  It's been a couple of years of focusing on "wait", trying to hear more from God and allow Him to influence my steps, thoughts, words.  I fail all the time. Repeat all the time.  Ask my highly-reactive son who doesn't need a Momma yelling at him because his AP-Psych grade is still 31%.  Fail. Fail. Fail. (IE, ME. Well, okay, me and him - but the only one I can change is me.)

But, I digress.

When in mid-January I really focused on what "audacious" was for me, I backed away from everything.  Everything. I couldn't see the big picture of why. The leaving was painful.  Why is this leaving feel so right, and yet so wrong?  Just tell me the "why?" and I'll be okay, I think.

I didn't get an answer.  I just obeyed, out of hurt and disappointment, but also out of the excitement for a journey.

Now, I say "no" way more than I ever have.  I want to say "no" way more than I ever have.  I don't initiate things with family or friends (well, except that ONE BIG THING - but more on that later).  I'm just being.  I'm living. I'm living happy.  I'm reading, I'm working, I'm loving my boys, I'm taking long, leisurely lunch breaks by myself, and yes, on occasion, I'm cuddling up in bed in the middle of the day and napping. It feels so different, so odd, so.....wrong.

I'm reading Becoming Myself by Stasi Eldredge, actually I've just finished it. (NOTE TO SELF: when you decide you aren't really into a book - skip to the last chapter - usually the last chapter is a good summary and gets you what you wanted out of the book!). 

And I know it can be really hard sometimes, this life of ours. Days come when I just want to crawl back into bed and pull the covers up over my head.  I want to disconnect my phone and take a break from my life. And, there are days when I do just that. For a bit. That's actually a good thing.  There are seasons when I need to retreat so that afterwards I can advance. (emphasis added).

(Found this beauty in the last chapter.  It wasn't a bad book, but seriously QUIET is a hard act to follow and I was reading them at the same time.)


There have been plenty of days in the last six weeks where I've crawled back to bed and slept or read a good book and ignored my cell phone.  I've turned off Facebook, I've ignored most of my friends, I've taken a big long retreat from my life. I've cooked less, I've slept more, and I've laid in the beds of each of my boys and talked -- wonderful chats. I've prayed more, I've read my Bible more, I've digested and internalized and thought about the real change I want. (All in the middle of my busy season.)

Even though I'm a "seasoned" Christian, perhaps because I'm a seasoned Christian I need this retreat, this break. It's been a long time with some poor habits, following the Christian crowd around. But, do I really listen to Him?  

Nope. My time isn't over.  Not even close to over.  I hope this retreat lasts a good, long time.  It's my "I've been a Christian for 40 years" sabbatical. I'm going to make it last. 

Stop. Rest. Assess. Dream. Pray. Advance.

Sabbatical or a sabbatical (from Latin sabbaticus, from Greek sabbatikos, from Hebrew shabbat, i.e., Sabbath, literally a "ceasing") is a rest from work, or a break, often lasting from two months to a year. The concept of sabbatical has a source in shmita, described several places in the Bible (Leviticus 25, for example, where there is a commandment to desist from working the fields in the seventh year). In the strict sense, therefore, a sabbatical lasts a year. (wikipedia)

Why?

Recently I was having lunch with a friend and I mentioned something about a blog post.  I'd completely forgot this blog is my secret shared with only a select few. Her next question surprised me: "why?"

Why do I blog?  Why do I write?

The answer is really very simple.

Because, I have to.  Words jumble in my head and they cry to get out on paper. Regardless of their audience, regardless of their impact - raw, here's-where-I'm-at-now words just have to get out on paper.  

A few days ago I was at a business meeting with seven people.  My role in this particular work-group is strategic thinker, someone who challenges the status quo and says "is there a better way?".  Monthly we meet as a team to focus on our "finish strong" goals for 2014/2015; we are trying to complete a nasty project which has to put to bed.  My involvement in this team meeting was to determine if we had team buy-in on a critical driver in the success of this project.  We felt perhaps very few of us believed in the critical driver.  My job was to challenge us, to work through an exercise to see if the critical number was pie in the sky or a real possibility many hadn't grasped yet. If the team couldn't or didn't buy into the critical number, there would be some serious soul searching.  

The meeting was a smashing success for six of us. My involvement in the exercise was not about, but about showing where we've been, where we are and where we are going and then asking the right questions for each category. The critical questions I asked, and the direction I led the conversation helped the team say, in their words, "your critical driver is correct."  It was exactly what we'd hoped for, a team exercise using team synergy to answer a question critical to our collective success. I didn't know what the "aha" moments would be, but I knew they would come and they'd help push us forward.  When we had completed, all six of us took pictures of the white board to keep those memories alive.

But, there were seven of us at the meeting. The key person, our salesperson, was negative, critical and condescending during the entire meeting.  The six of us felt it.  Actually we stopped the meeting early and the three person leadership team assembled with our mouth's agape.... "what in the heck just happened." We had to figure that out before we moved on with her. However, despite our abrupt end, even the leadership meeting produced more "aha" moments to propel us forward.  As leaders we were ready to move, with or without her.

What her boss found out the next day was there was a complete disconnect between what the meeting was to be, and what she thought it was to be. She was done with the "drama" of it all and wanted to move ahead without any further communication about it.  I, on the other hand, as the strategic caregiver of this fragile company knew that the elephant in the room, not only her actions, but her beliefs still needed to be addressed - and we needed to be certain she understood roles and the process of "team".

My mind whirled for about 30 minutes and a memo to her was drafted in my head. I sat at my computer for 15-20 minutes and pounded it out, laying the foundation for the exercise, my role to strategically challenge actions, the role of team meetings to not be another "regular weekly meeting" but to dig deeper, and how each member of the team has their role to play in order for us to "finish strong".  Typed. Proofed once. Few edits. 2 pages done in 20 minutes.  

I forwarded it to her boss.  His reply "wow - you nailed it. perfect. forwarding." 

This second email response was "out of curiosity, how long did that take you to write?"

"20 minutes".  

"no way." (He isn't certain where the CAPS key is. Seriously.)

"Yes, way."


I live in my head.  My head swirls thoughts and ideas, and discouragements and dreams, and disappointments and joys, and sometimes the only way to get them out of my head is to take pen to paper, or these days, fingers to my keyboard and pound them out. 

Whether anyone reads them is (almost always) immaterial to the process of getting them out of my head so I can decide what to do this the mumbo jumbo mess.  

That is why I write. That is why I don't sugar coat. That is why I write with lots of "I"'s.  This is the story of me figuring out my life. Getting those swirling words out of my mind; working them through while pounding the keys.

That's the "why".

So different than I imagined

It's beyond funny to me that I envisioned selling our house and climbing (figurative) mountains in my quest to live 2014 audaciously.  Dream big or go home.

Audacious.  Seriously, you can't say that word and not think "something big is coming."

It is. Something big is coming.... but perhaps "my one word" for 2012 and 2013 .... WAIT.... was preparing me for something.  Good things come to those who wait, and who follow.

My audacious 2014 meant -- I am ready, here am I, send me.

Now. In 2014.

Over the past year or so, I've presented three wonderful outreach ministries to our church.  All three have been shot down.  My "I'm ready, here am I, send me"-soul is weary.  I'm ready to go, but each God-thing impressed upon my heart has been given the "thumbs down."  That's draining.  

Yesterday was a particularly hard day for Z and I.  We've had very few of those -- he and I.  Really, probably not since the days of trying to memorize math facts for timed tests have we had a day so bad.  My "I'm ready, here am I, send me" soul shrank as God smacked me up along side my head with His proverbial baseball bat and said "come on, let's clean up your own life audaciously, radically, boldly....and then."

Meanwhile, while I'm audaciously working towards cleaning up debt, minimizing our wants, loving our kids, treasuring my husband and learning more and more how to lean upon my heavenly Father's strength and not my own, the world is hurting all around.  Time is of the essence. I must do this work audaciously. 

It's all coming together.  My season of learning, of study, of changing my world views.  My season of waiting for the Lord who brought me new insights and softened my hardened hart. 

This season is about the becoming.

I said "send me" -- He's saying "abide in me; let me make you ready."

I'll audaciously abide.

Unraveling, like a mystery

Seriously, is our God awesome, or what?


Audacious is turning out to be more than my one word...it's an unbelievable journey He has laid out for me.  How big is our God that He pieced this all together for me?  You might not see it, or think God cares individually about me, or you.  He does.

Quite by accident this year, through the challenges I've been facing, I realized that I'm really more introvert than extrovert. That, along with the fact that I have a senior introvert headed off to college soon, I plunged into the book Quiet by Susan Cain.

Oh, what I'm uncovering.  For Zach.  And, for me.

Zach is his Momma's son, a male chip off the old Momma block. Throughout the years I've read many books to help me better parent Zach, and realized this truth: he's his Momma's boy.  We've sought diagnoses and answers about what is unique about him, and had various and sundry "aha" moments - but none that really made complete sense to me.  Quiet, more than anything, has helped me piece together the pieces. 

For some time I've envisioned myself as somewhat neurotic.  I mean, not in a weird, crazy way - is there a not weird way to be neurotic?  Just who has kids who nickname their Momma "8:00 p.m. Mommy".  By 8 I just can't handle anymore. Not that I'm tired.  My brain just says "ESCAPE" "RUN" "HIDE" -- and they know I must be left alone. 

There are other quirks, too.  Quirks has always been my way of saying it.  Or, my husband might say - "you like things the way you like them".  

A few weeks ago the family begged me to go to dinner someplace besides our normal Chicago's Pizza or El Meson.  I was trying to be "our people" so I acquiesced and we headed to Bob Evans.  Oh. My. Lands.  It's loud. It's tiny. There is very little space at a table.  There is very little space between tables. There is very little decent on the menu.  My very little brain was about to explode.  Within moments of us sitting down, my dear sweet husband could see the horror on my face said "do we need to leave?"  He knew I was losing it.  But, why?  I sat there and wondered if I was neurotic. Spoiled. A snob. Careless for the needs of others. 

No, I was just down right overwhelmed. It wasn't my "sweet spot". 

We have a tiny coffeehouse in our town.  Tiny.  It's "the place" to gather.  I can't do it.  There are 40 chairs within the space that 10-12 people should be seated.  Often times when I'm asked to go there I ask myself those same questions I asked at Bob Evans. 

What in the heck is wrong with me?

For the past three years or so I've worked the majority of my time out of my home office. It's my "sweet spot".  I'm comfy. Everything is orderly. I know my routine to stay focused.  Check social media. Close social media. Start Pandora on low. Start the diffuser with peppermint or lavender. Mid-day I turn the background noise to Dave Ramsey, fill the diffuser and start again.  It's my "sweet spot".  Change one thing up in my office and my senses are overwhelmed.  I added Christmas playlists to my Pandora list in November, and my system was so attune to those changes, it was all I could hear and it took me days to get back to my "sweet spot".  Or, put me in a client's office and my senses are heightened to the point of ineffectiveness.

You either love or loathe personality tests.  I love them.  During my years managing the development of a housing sub-division, I had to take a Caliper(TM) test.  This test is used most often to find idea sales candidates - but it revealed something very unique about me.  My empathy level was 99%. The interpreter told me I'm incredibly in tune with the world around me. I can anticipate with great accuracy what people are thinking or feeling, the nuances of group dynamics, I hear things that others don't hear, I take in more of the world and attempt to process it.  Was it related to ADHD - my inability to stay on task?  More likely, probably the cause for me not staying on task.  (Later I'll tell you about the other startling statistic from this test.)

Over the years I've really remembered and hung on to this empathy factor. No one scores a 100% - so I knew this was a biggie for who I was, how I processed things.  

Yesterday Zach came home from a long day at school and told me school was literally sucking the energy out of his body, especially his A/P Psych class because it required endless introspective surveys and analysis and conversations. "I'm wilting."  Words no parents wants to hear....but words I understand.  His energy was gone.  He was gone.  He couldn't move forward. (An aside - I'm blessed that Zach talks to me about most everything; I couldn't have or wouldn't have or didn't have the opportunity to share these things with my parents - I'm blessed.)

It was the same feeling I had when he broke his leg at the start of his senior year. I knew him.  I knew his psyche. I knew he'd become "wilted". It wasn't self-fulfilling prophecy - it was his core of who he is now. The senses, everything he'd have to take in and process, the missed school, missed social events, the fitting back in again as a "newbie", it would lead to a "wilt" and it did.  

I spent time processing with Zach late last night and then chilled by reading Quiet to search for more answers.  Chapter 4 "Is Temperament Destiny? Nature, Nurture and the Orchid Hypothesis" is about "highly-reactive" people - a term that was new to me.  

The Orchid Hypothesis, by David Dobbs in The Atlantic:  This theory holds that many children are like dandelions, able to thrive in just about any environment.  But others, including the high-reactive types that Kagan studied are more like orchids; they wilt easily, but under the right conditions can grow strong and magnificent.

Is this not our God? Able to ease this Momma's mind - to provide the word -- wilt -- to help me understand He was going to help me unravel this mysery -- put a name to the matter. 

Yes. Amen! Praise you Jesus. And, He didn't stop there.

I follow this blogger modernmrsdarcy.com.  and, I follow her on Good Reads. Yes, I'm cyber stalking her in the nicest way.  Her recommendation of Quiet led me to it. Today her blog is entitled:  "Let's talk about highly-sensitive people". Ding ding ding. I'm reading about highly-reactive (sensitive) people right now - so yes, let's talk about them.

Her words today (along with links to loads of information):

A highly sensitive person is more sensitive to physical and/or emotional stimuli than the general population. According to Dr. Elaine Aron, who coined the term, the HSP “has a sensitive nervous system, is aware of subtleties in his/her surroundings, and is more easily overwhelmed when in a highly stimulating environment.”

In practice, that means HSPs tend to avoid violent movies, are easily overwhelmed by bright lights and loud noises, get rattled when two people are talking to them at once, and need time and space to regroup during especially busy days.

Whether or not you’ve heard the term before, that description should ring true for about 1 in 5 of you. The trait of high sensitivity affects 15-20% of the population (and Aron points out that this percentage holds across species, not just for humans).

Like many people, I was first introduced to Aron’s work through Susan Cain’s excellent book Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking, and had a major “Aha!” moment of my own. (Although highly sensitive people are not a subset of introverts: 30% of HSPs are extroverts.)

I’m an HSP to the core: I avoid violent imagery, I’m hugely empathic, and I feel like my head will explode when two people try to talk to me at the same time. Or if I’m trying to make dinner while the counter is cluttered with the morning’s dishes. Or if someone is singing while the radio is playing a a different song.

And, that's God for the winner. How awesome. Last night. Last night, folks, my son said "I'm wilting". Later that very night, I'm reading a book and come to a theory about "wilting".  And, today a blogger I read posts all sorts of great information about HSP, with specific examples that scream "you and Zach!"  

It just doesn't get more encouraging than that, folks.  God individually love us all. If He does it for little old me in Franklin, Indiana - he'll do it for you. He loves you the same as He loves me.  

I'm praying anew for my orchid, my Zach, as together we decide the best next step for him:

"Lead us to the right conditions so he can bloom, and grow strong and magnificent for You."  

He is able to show us the way. He loves us that much.

When sadness and joy come together

I started this blog to journal a new phase in my life.  It was sparked by my one word challenge in 2014 - audacious.  And, it turned into a fire when my world was turned inside out and upside down with the realization HE meant "audacious" in a completely different way than I imagined.  It's really about ratcheting down, ratcheting from within, and communing with Him more. Regroup. Reassess. Re-examine. Refocus.  Understand who I am, what my strengths are, what is important to Him and therefore should be important to me.  It's been a journey of years of Bible study that's led me here.  It's all twirling in my mind and flowing out on paper.  

I read random blogs.  Mostly I'm directed to them from a community of Christian men and women on twitter, and they lead me to others, etc.  One of the random blogs I read the other day was well-done, introspective and the author was in a very similar place as me.  Two viewers (presumably random folks) left comments about how egotistical she was being -- writing with all the "I" this and "I" that.  CAUTION:  this blog is about ME, my journey.  It will be full of I's -- because the only person I can change is "I".  

***********************************************

More days than not I awake with an overwhelming sadness, and yet I'm joyful.

Can you mix sadness and joy?  

I didn't think you could. But I do. 

There is sadness for the past, for my failings, for all the lives I've ignored, for those living on the fringes that I've laughed at or mocked.  There is sadness for loss I've had, loss I'm experiencing, loss I know I'll have.  There is sadness in realizing I'm not who I want to be, nor probably who He wants me to be.  There is sadness in wondering "what if.....".  What if I'd focused differently in my 30's.  What if we'd valued things differently when we first married?  What if we'd started Dave Ramsey earlier? What if we'd not purchased "the" money pit of a home?  What if I'd really focused on "our people" more?  Oh, the "what if"'s can overwhelm me with sadness... and probably should overwhelm me for a season so I'm encouraged to move on.

But joy is there too.  Joy in knowing He is there.  He is speaking to me. He is saying "I love you BECAUSE I made you. I don't expect anything from you but to have a relationship with me.  To know me, to long for me, to worship me."  Joy in knowing that I can repent of all my failures and move on. There were so many takeaways from this weekend's IF:Gathering (yes, enough to buy the downloadable version to watch over and over), but my most prominent takeaway: "I love you. You, as you are. You, for what you do or don't do.  You, for what you know or don't know. I love you."  

There is great joy in His love.  In being loved.  In being sought after.

And, joy encourages me to dream.  Dream of the impact my future "what if"'s might have. 

I'm surrounded and cheered on by "a great cloud of witnesses" who have won their race (with stumbles along the way), now it is my turn to lay aside my weight of past "what if"'s and finish the race, the race Christ gives me.

The Race of Faith

Hebrews 12 Therefore we also, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, 2 looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.

Audacious living... even in the pain

Through my journey thus far, I've re-discovered something about myself. Pain, grief, sadness... they immobilize me. Do they everyone? Or, is it just me. Dog-gone weak ego-strength resiliency.

Take the path of least resistance to avoid, prevent or control pain.

Even though I'm a movie fanatic, I avoid blockbuster movies where pain is the story line.  The Passion of Christ, Schindler's List, The Boy in the Striped Pajama - never seen them. War movies - not for me. The known pain keeps me away.  

When I was 25 and engaged after two months of dating and preparing to marry seven months later, we wisely invested in pre-marital counseling.  Our counselor took us through family of origin issues we should understand before we confirmed our decision to marry (ie, sent out the invites).  My number one issue was the divorce of my parents when I was 8.  At that moment, as the oldest child of parents only 17 years older than me, I became an adult.  All matters became serious to me. Everything became a matter of survival. The counselor looked at me with doe-wide eyes and said "wow, it's been difficult on you being this intense forever, hasn't it?" Um, well, yes it has.

My life has been lived on the imagined edge of disaster since my childhood was turned upside down and inside out.  Life is wonderful. Until you realize it isn't when you see your father standing at the door with a suitcase. Unbearable, unimaginable pain. Now, all pain is to be avoided, prevented (perhaps I'm a bit of a control freak), or if those aren't possible, ignored.

Part of living audacious in 2014 is breaking through, breaking free of the chains holding me back from living life to the fullest.  So cliche', but so real. 

One of my biggest regrets in life surrounds how I handled the death of my stepfather. Suffice to say I should have been there. Audacious living is about not having regrets caused by deep-seeded pain that holds me back.


Today is a scheduled client day, but instead I will be where the pain is. At a funeral home, for a boy whose impulsive actions changed the lives of four families, and broke his Momma's heart. I don't want to. Who would? On the other hand, I don't want any regret in my future. 

Audacious living says walk through the pain. 

It's all grace

My mind is abuzz.  All these new thoughts on religion, Christianity, personality, introverts, differing views, grace -- they are all buzzing around and consuming my mind.

I'm a black and white girl.  Truth is truth.  God's word is true. Believe or don't - but don't go gray on me.  In my Myers-Briggs personality that would be the "j" in me, I suppose.  I believe there is right and wrong, black and white, and I judge those who don't. #truth.

Years ago I was introduced to Anne Lamott through her book Operating Instructions. It was really my first foray into Christians who thought differently than I did. As I read that book, with its incredible irreverence and raw emotions of a new mother (I was not at the time), I was caught by the realness of it.  Was it okay to talk that way, to feel that way?  It was a gray box, for certain.

Then I read Donald Smith's Blue Like Jazz. Dude, this guy is an awesome writer but his thoughts are not well-respected in the evangelical Christian community.  He's a hippie thinker who made his way to the pacific northwest and lived a life very different from those of us in the Bible beltway.  Recently he wrote a series of blogs about why he doesn't attend church.  Gasp, the evangelical movement went crazy with criticisms.  Why doesn't he attend?  In a nutshell he's a kinesthetic learner/introverted thinker who believes that ones' actions speak louder than sitting in a pew each week.  It was a gray box, for certain.

#SB48 week has caused Christians to go out of their way to show "their team" as God on their side.  A photo of Peyton Manning with a quote about him praying and keeping his Christian life private has gone viral.  Aren't we supposed to "live out loud" (thank you Steven Curtis Chapman).  Aren't we supposed to be proud of our God and make certain to make him known?  How can we do that by keeping the impact God has in our life private - especially when we have such a public platform?  It was a gray box.

Bruno Mars performed during this week's halftime show.  For years I only listened to Christian music.  Then I had a teenager who loves music - all genres and I needed to stay in touch with him.  I added Jack Johnson, Michael Buble, Daughtery, Carrie Underwood, Adele, and oh so many more to my pandora playlist.  My list is still dominated with artists who openly glorify God and sing his praises, but now other songs are mixed in.  A prominent Christian artist was nearly crucified when he tweeted that he enjoyed Bruno Mars' half-time show.  He noted he was a great singer, artist and drummer and gave a great show.  Christians were unnerved he could condone some of the lyrics and gyrations and on and on.  He replied by saying (in essence) - it's all grace. Whether you agree or don't agree with me, I'm covered with what I think by God's grace.  He entered a Christian gray area.

Weeks ago I asked to hold a ladies telecast event at my church.  There were 20+ women affiliated with leading this national movement event hosted live in Austin, TX and simulcast to over 2,000 locations across the world. Huge. The format was loosely defined, but the speakers and their topics weren't published. After an initial approval the elders and leaders decided they couldn't agree with what might be presented by Christian woman who had theologies that differed from them. My church is not open to views which differ from theirs.  To me it was gray and covered by grace.  Not so with them. And, perhaps rightly so since they are a church body. I'm still torn.

Last night was the #creationdebate. I believe God miraculously created the world in six days and 6,000 years ago as the inspired word of God says and proves through genealogy. It's faith.  Just like believing Jesus was born of a virgin, died a death for my sins, and was resurrected three days later, and walked the earth for 40 days before ascending to heaven. It's non-sense to the rest of the world (white) and Bill Nye. It's absolute to me (black) and Ken Ham. Interestingly there was not gray.  My twitter feed was not filled with grace. Instead they world ridiculed Ken Ham for his Biblical view.  And, not only the world, but many Christian bloggers ridiculed Ken Ham as a quack. Where's the grace? (sorry - no grace, no follow - #unfollow party.) 

Here's my point.  There are many gray areas I'm growing in. Although I believe Christians should attend church every week (forsake not the assembling together), there are some who just don't for whatever reason. And, they are still Christians.  

I believe that we should use our God-given moments to proclaim his love for the lost - verbally and in action.  Many prefer an internal relationship. They are still Christians.

Some teach that immersion baptism is required, others who believe Jesus is the Christ believe no baptism is required, that confirmation is a baptism.  It's all good - it's all grace - we are all Christians.

My audacious journey is teaching me that we are all different, uniquely created by our Savior who loves us all equally.  My way isn't the right way. Yes, His Holy Bible teaches us "the way", but we'll all interpret it differently. We'll all live it out differently. In the end, in the very end, when the trumpet sounds I believe the only important thing will be "do you believe Jesus is the Christ the son of God, your living Lord and Savior?"  And, the extra crowns are for how much you did to show others the same, to bring them to Him, to love others as Christ loves us.

I could be wrong.  Surely I am wrong - how could I be the one that gets it right?  But, I'm trusting that grace will have the rest covered.

Beauty is

Thirty some years ago I was a skinny, tall, lanky, unattractive (I'd say homely but you'd all hush me), insecure kid.  My first "job" was babysitting adorable newborn twins. These twins had 4 older brothers -- one my age - and a contender for "most popular".  The twins' Dad made it a habit to tell the boys "Cathy is the kind of gal you marry, boys -- not those flirty, popular girls you all date.  She's wife material."

He meant it as a compliment. I took it as a compliment. Mostly. A part of me realized it meant I was different from the types of girls boys sought out. I knew I was different. I can't explain why, or how, I just was. I wasn't a girly girl. I wasn't beautiful. 

A poignant and memorable conversation from thirty years ago cemented my view.

Everyone knew Suz was beautiful (LE, I hope you are reading!).  Oh. My. Golly.  Did she flaunt it? Was she? Or, did the guys think she was, so she became known as beautiful? Or, did she have great confidence that she was because of her upbringing?  Who knows? This I do know, she was a thorn to the other girls.

One night after a Sunday night church service, poor Suz needed a shoulder to lean on. Her "guy of the month" had dumped her (a pattern).  She pulled me aside and dropped this bomb on me:  "you'll never know how hard it is for a beautiful girl to date a guy and not know if he's only interested in you for your beauty or for who you are. I just want to be normal (implied: ugly, like you)"

Okay. Well, thanks. And good-bye Suz (with friends like that, who needs enemies?). But really, she didn't mean anything by it. Okay, she was really just clueless (can I get an amen?), self-absorbed with her current problem and evidently lacking in verbal intelligence to convey her true feelings. Or, on second thought - maybe she did communicate clearly. 

That moment, that one moment, told me the things I'd always believed about myself... I wasn't beautiful and therefore, why would anyone love me?  Years later I'm still haunted by that comment.

Today on AIR-1 they were having a discussion about whether ladies would want beauty or to have normal "beauty" but marry a handsome guy that would never cheat on her.  A young lady called it and said "it's difficult being beautiful because you never know if a guy loves you for you or for your beauty".  

Seriously. Go away. Get over your big, bad, beautiful self. Haunting hurt renewed.

But, there is another way.  There are families doing "beauty" differently.

Twenty five years ago I was a nanny for a special family in Anderson, Indiana.  The father was a new physician and they had beautiful red-headed children - a little girl and boy - and were expecting their third baby. Their sweet mother, Rhonda, worked with me at Capin Crouse. When I took a break and focused on college, and her husband start his practice, we both ended up in Anderson and they took me in as theirs.

Rhonda would not allow anyone to tell Alysa, her oldest, she was a beautiful girl (and oh she was and is a beauty) without following up with some disclaimer: "well, what really matters is her beautiful heart for Jesus", or "she's got pretty red hair, but she knows beauty is really about what's on the inside" or "beauty doesn't mean much unless she loves people like Jesus did".  Alysa never believed that her physical beauty was what mattered. She learned early on, before she started elementary school, what truly mattered - her inner beauty. To this day it's difficult for me to tell kids they are beautiful without adding my own disclaimer -- because I know there is so much more to the story.

Today Scott and Rhonda's children (Alysa, Christopher, and Lauria) are all confident, beautiful and God-fearing young adults.  And, the best part is - when I see a picture of any of them - or all of them together - you see that their beauty is deep. Those disclaimers worked.  

What a gift.  How different the contrasts. 

Beauty is.....within.  

There but by the grace of God

There but by the grace of God....

I can't think, really can't, how many times in a day I think this.  Some days, like today, it consumes me.  Almost paralyzes me. Why me? Why am I (right now) one of the blessed ones?

It could be me. It could be my family.  It could be my sons abducted and enslaved to work in cacao fields.  It could be my daughters kidnapped to work in brothels.  It could be my family living in a homeless shelter, or worse yet living in a cardboard box in minus 50 wind chills. It could be my husband dying from cancer, leaving behind sons at an impressionable age. It could be me juggling a life between work and cancer treatments.  It could be me caring for an invalid mother and kids at the same time. It could be my family making difficult decisions about paying the electric bill or eating something besides spaghetti o's for the month.

Fortunately, today it isn't.  And so I count myself among the blessed. Extremely blessed. And yet cognizant that in a moment - it could all change.

Last night a sweet, sweet woman from our church (and our favorite waitress of all time) lost her son to a murder-suicide act.  Four families' lives -- at least -- were changed in a moment. Her son is now a murderer who took his own life. There is no denying. There will be no trial. His ex-girlfriend watched as he gunned down her friend/roommate. And, as her neighbor tried to intervene, the ex-girlfriend and his two teenage sons watched the killer take the neighbor's life, too.

There is no judgment from me.  There is only pain, and grief, and unbelievable heartache.  

I know this mother, not her son. I see her interact with her pre-teen daughter; she's full of a mother's love. On a recent visit to her restaurant, she told me her son was working with her there. Full of pride and smiling ear to ear, she pointed him out to me. Today, no doubt, her smile is gone, and what about the pride?

There but by the grace of God.  In an instant it can all change.  Life can be turned topsy-turvy and get messy. Diagnoses come.  Children disappoint. Finances crumble. Security is taken. And, you begin walking in the difficult.

My thoughts today are those of a mother living in small town Franklin, knowing her precious bundle of joy, the one she likely rocked to sleep, bandaged up scraped knees, maybe taught to ride a bicycle, and encouraged to get his life moving in the right direction - is gone. Not only is he gone, but he took others with him.  How do you move? How do you attend to matters your husband, your employer, your pre-teen daughter need?  How do you deal with all the "what if's...."?  How do you deal with small town life? How do you go on.  I hope she cries out to Jesus.

He is only ONE, only ONE, who can understand, who can strengthen, who can calm.  

The world is aching.  The sin of our fallen world has caused so much pain. Some days I'm overwhelmed with all the hurt, all those hurting -- today more than most. The bucket of needy is large and my shovel is so small. 

There but by the grace of God go I, or mine, or yours.

Cry out to Jesus and thank Him for showing his grace today. And pray that when your difficult comes, and it will come, you'll be able to cry out to Jesus.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BjrBWRSmwYA

The bucket of the needy is large, my shovel is small... but my God is humongous. 

Rising up

My evangelical Christian world was a bit closed.  More and more I'm realizing how (dare I say) "brainwashed" I have been.  The church (and its leaders and policies) have told me what I should make important. 

Then I met friends weren't on the same evangelical Christian path as I was. Not only did they garden, recycle and help out community organizations - they didn't use styrofoam, conserved water, gave to many organizations (not just the church).  For my part, I didn't know people really recycled.  Well, except for those hippies in Seattle.  Yes, I'm serious.  And, we'd spend our money eating out way too often and bring home the leftovers in styrofoam containers. (I now deplore styrofoam containers - not only for their lifespan, but dog gone it that terrible sound is like fingernails on a chalkboard.)  Okay - I could go on and on, but let's just say I was CLUELESS.  I was comfortable going to church and figuring out how I was going to heaven (and, for that matter if heaven was going to just be singing all day!) It's what we did. We celebrated our home we'd soon have - and sit -- and for those who liked to read, study while we sat.

Then came the 21st century and year 2000.  Evangelical Christian Americans -- our household included -- became more vested in politics - thanks to the advent of the 24-hour news channel and FOX News that catered more to our leaning - and a presidential debacle that had us eager for a change.  Around the same time The Purpose Driven Life by Rick Warren came out and suddenly churches were talking about how to live in their community.  Ministry within the community became something that churches began talking about.  Was it really a new concept?  It was for our household.  Churches weren't only concerned about going to heaven, now the conversation was shifting towards how can we serve our community and how can we band together to save the nation which was on a slippery slope.. heading to "H E double hockey sticks in a handbag."

This quote from Gary Haugen President of The International Justice Mission hits home:

Haugen came of age at a time when the small group of Christians speaking most loudly for Jesus were not, in his view, representative of the wider Christian community. He told me, “Evangelicals come from a tradition that says, ‘Don’t be involved in politics. Try to go to Heaven.’ But then we entered a phase where the religious right said, ‘It’s our duty as Christians to be involved in politics, and here’s what Christians should be politically involved in fighting: abortion, gay rights, Communism.’ Now, today’s Christians are saying, ‘Whoa, who says?’ and ‘Surely there is more.’ ” At his Willow Creek lecture in August, Haugen never mentioned James Dobson, Pat Robertson, or other leaders of the religious right by name, but he called on the crowd to join with him in leading “our faith community out of a prison of triviality and fear.” He continued, “May this be the generation of Christian leaders that resets the bar of excellence.”*

I hope I'm being moved in the direction of resetting the bar of excellence. Changing what matters.

God Is Love (I John 4)7 Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. 8 Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love.

My love for God and His love for me compels me to figure it out and "love one another".  To me that's "love everyone".  To love - verb - I must know more. To know more I must dig deeper than I'm taught in church. I must really appreciate how blessed I am and how needy others are.  

I must understand that there are others who give up a life of relative wealth and figure out how they can live differently (Interrupted - Jen Hatmaker; or, Kisses from Katie - Katie Davis).  

I must learn that I can do with less (7; An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess). 

I must learn that God values woman of character, who courageous seek Him -- beauty doesn't matter (Esther - Beth Moore).  I must learn that riches don't matter to God - showing mercy to the poor matter. (James - Beth Moore).  

I must see others living recklessly sharing the love of Christ (Blood Brothers documentary).  

I must hear the stories of boys forced to harvest cacoa so I can eat my cheap chocolate, or of woman sold into slavery or brutally raped (Half the Sky - Kristof/WuDunn)


I must continue to want to learn more - be made raw with grief for others. Ache as His heart aches.  http://www.thelocusteffect.com/ (going to read: The Locus Effect - Gary Haugen)

I cannot be brainwashed by anyone if I seek knowledge. I must continue to learn, and share, and change my buying and accumulating habits, and speak up for those who can't.... and then.... change will come and I'll become part of the next generation of Christians who reset the bar of excellence... who truly love the least of these.  

Lord, let it be.



* http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2009/01/19/090119fa_fact_power

Work at Home Momma Problems

Here's my productivity cycle:


Monday:  ("I'm tired from working so much all weekend") 0%

Tuesday:  ("oh, its the work week, better get going") 20%

Wednesday: ("I got a lot done yesterday, right? - NO, get moving!") 25%

Thursday:  ("yikes, I've done nothing yet this week!") 60%

Friday:  ("yesterday was good, but today has got to be better!") 75%

Saturday:  ("YAH! hubby is home, kids are taking care of - lock myself in my office and get to it!) 125%

Sunday:  ("Grrr... if actually worked Monday - Wednesday I wouldn't have to kill myself on Sundays!")  80%

Repeat.... repeat.... repeat....


I put a LONG weekend in from Friday a.m. - Sunday 4:00 p.m. (just in time to prepare a delicious smorgasbord of yummies for our family Super Bowl party at 6:00 p.m.) -- so Monday has hit me hard today!

Happy new week, y'all!

Bringing the outsiders home

Late in 2013 my fatigue with Bible studies waned.  I love the Lord with all my heart. I enjoy being with His people and learning together, but seriously, I've been a Christian for too many years to count. Shouldn't my time be spent practicing all I've learned instead of continuing to sit on the sidelines learning more?

And, too often hubby was headed one direction for a study and I was at home, and then the next night switch roles. And repeat within the week and every week.

Early in January a friend asked if we'd like to join a couple's Bible study.  Her husband was raised Catholic but doesn't attend the Catholic church any longer. He is uncomfortable in her evangelic Christian church and rarely attends with her or the kids. It was only 4 weeks and the study was COURAGEOUS. Why not? 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cy9SWgR6dvs

We'd already done this study but I knew it was important to my friend, and it felt like a great transition to a new plan for us.  And, it gave us a chance to meet families who might (or might not) become "our people" (just like loves of our lives, you have to kiss a lot of "our people" before you find your prince families to align with.)

So, Keith agreed.  Reluctantly.  He loved his Tuesday night group -- it was "his" people.  He enjoyed his Sunday night group -- it was FMCC people. But he gave them up.  And, I gave up Wednesday night girl's Bible study - and off we went.... together.

We are a diverse group of people.  One Catholic couple, many with Methodist backgrounds, and some of us with evangelical Christian backgrounds. Many are divorcees who are remarried with blended families.  There's a couple who are both divorcees and are just dating. A few are even in the middle of a divorce now.  And, there are those of us still on our first marriage and fighting to make it work. Some don't attend church now but had strong influences of faith growing up and identify themselves as Christians. Some left the Catholic church and converted to evangelical Christian church.  And, a very few of us grew up our entire life in the church. Of the eight (give or take) couples, everyone is connected to no less than two - and no more than five.  We are all just really getting to know each other. But, there is tremendous respect for the journeys of the others. 

Last night's study on a courageous legacy centered around how you remembered your father and the legacy he left.  Well, few could say their father left a faith legacy.  Other types of legacies, yes, but not a legacy of faith.  Most fathers -- as were many fathers of our generation -- were either quiet, hot-headed or absent by their choice or by working long hours. There were long discussions of how our men father differently because of their childhood journeys with their fathers. At the end the pastors of the video study talked about the legacy their fathers left them (quite different legacies than our men - or women for that matter - had experienced). The room silenced.  The men began to understand how awesome it would be for their kids if they could have the courage to leave a faith legacy for them.

While that's indescribable, for me the most awesome thing is that these are families that would never have normally come together - with men who would normally not discuss these things - let alone in a room with people they just met two weeks ago.   

This is the kind of group I want to be involved in.  I don't want to only hang with "my type of Christians" - I want to hang with and be involved in changing the lives of folks who don't want to open the door of a church, those who wonder why God is the God of mean nuns or priests who do bad things (DISCLAIMER: their words - not mine), or those who are tired of sermons about fire and brimstone instead of God's love, mercy and grace (yes, there is judgement too - but let's not leave out the other), or those who see imperfect Christians judging them. 

What good is a small group of like-minded Christians?  Yes, it's the community of your church. But shouldn't we be about helping others - outsiders - find their way back in? Shouldn't we be figuring out how to bring them into our homes, find out their stories, share the story of Jesus with them, and invite them back to Jesus and his church. Closed, church-based small groups typically don't do that.  

After three studies this group feels like home. Whether it's home because of the people, or whether it is home because of the mission is uncertain at this point. But, I'm enjoying the ride.... for one more week.  And, then we'll see what is next.