There’s a chasm in my mind That has no end If my truth were told, I’d never find a friend Anxieties inside of me Tumble through my soul The trickle of the endless grind Leaves me scattered, worn, and cold Will it ever end? Will I ever mend?
On the bleak and inky page I see a light Shining from the words I often write If the fairytales are accurate If “Once upon a time” is not never If at the end of the storybook There’s a happily after ever At the end I just might begin again
I’d rather ‘present’ over ‘fiction’, But ‘ever’ over ‘now’ I’d write endless climbs And nursery lines About the moon Jumping o’er the cow You know the last goodbye’s The hardest word to say But this is where the author Writes away
It’s just days until Christmas. As a Christian, this is when we celebrate the birth of our Lord: Jesus Christ.
I love the image I added to this post. It’s The Nativity by Gari Melchers (1891). It’s Mary, post-birth – exhausted, presumably still unclean from the birth, leaning on Joseph. And Joseph – awe-struck – looking intently upon his newborn miracle – who seems to be wondering what on earth he has to give the savior of the world. Whatever his thoughts, whatever his exhausted state – he can’t take his eyes off of Jesus.
I find myself completely understanding both perspectives this season.
Fully expectant of a savior and completely exhausted by the endeavor.
Fully expectant of a savior and awe-struck where I can hardly pull my eyes away.
This is a busy season. There are plans to make and gifts to wrap and pies to bake and cards to send.
There are work and school and friend and family parties to attend. There are church services later this week.
For some, this is a lonely season. A “where did my life take this turn and how will I ever get back to a joyful existence” season. A “this year was full of twists and turns” season.
I feel the need to pause, quiet my heart, and prepare him room.
Jesus came into a smelly common animal shelter – to bring the divine to the common.
May my gaze ever rest on the amazing miracle of my savior – in this and every season.
God bless you and your household, wherever you are.
Somewhere in the quiet of a borrowed stable a baby drew in his first breath, and a new light entered the world.
Darkness had been growing since the dawn of time, but that night a new timeline began. Light began to seep back into the world.
It began small – in the heart of Mary. It radiated to Elizabeth. It filled the earth from that first small cry, and still radiates in the lives of those who will allow it trespass.
We light trees and ceramic villages, rooftops and lawns, yet how often do we stop to let the light permeate us? I don’t. Not really.
I say “Merry Christmas” and, therefore, say “Christ” as part of it – but until I dreamed of a child glowing with all the light there will ever be, I never really “got” it.
He is Immanuel –
GOD with us!
Not God 2000+ years ago. Not God in a book we open twice a year. Not God only a preacher can ever really experience.
God WITH us!
He is there by the tree on December 25th as we open gifts. He is with the mother at the Food Stamp office. He is with the homeless veteran. He is with the depressed, the overjoyed, the normal. He is there as we type our Facebook statuses, at Starbucks, at the ballpark, in our hearts –
God with US!
I’m not sure these words are even all that I feel in my heart. They are certainly not an adequate representation of the dream I had of a mother and a new baby and the birth of a light that still reaches beyond time. A light that fills up every dark corner – not only exposing its contents, but filling it so completely that the darkness is not dark any longer.
I’ve been too long content with the contents of my darkness—today I open the window of my heart and let in the Light.
Overshadow me, Lord.
I am so unworthy, but still you left Heaven for me. I close my eyes and take in the scent of sleeping sheep, old hay, and damp wood. I open my heart and take in the reality of a savior who left Heaven; who traded royalty for a humble beginning so that I could live with him forever.
I have been listening to Brené Brown’s Rising Strong on Audible. It’s gripping. Life changing. A must-read if you’re human.
She begins by talking about the stories we make up in our heads and what happens when they conflict with reality.
I don’t know about you, but I make up stories in my head all the time. Sometimes I fill in the blanks for the previous life of the homeless man on the corner or about what I want my life to be in the future, etc. This is okay for most people, but for those of us who grew up experiencing complex trauma, it’s tricky. Storytelling can be a trauma response our brain does automatically. In these cases, it is designed to keep us safe in the midst of hard situations.
I grew up in a rundown trailer park outside of town. I had a “story tree” in my backyard. From there, in the Fall when the leaves made their seasonal descent, if the lake level was high, I could see the lake. At other times of the year, I would climb way up and sit in the strong biceps of the tree and feel the breeze and create stories (this often came out in poetic lyrical ballads).
As a senior in High School, I wrote a modern version of one of Chaucer’s tales in iambic pentameter and matched Chaucer verse for verse.
I understand poets and storytellers. They are my people.
Lately, though, I’m not so sure this habit is quite as helpful or entertaining. I learned over the years that it’s easier to live in my story world – my version of reality – when I sense fear, anger, deception, or when any past traumatic situation rears its ugly head.
Here are the stories I’ve made up lately:
There’s someone else out there more beautiful, more athletic, and much smarter than I am who is just perfect for the man of my dreams and they’ll live out my happily ever after while I look on in agony.
Or this one: I’m in my 20s, I have a beautiful head of thick hair (NOT Alopecia), my thighs don’t jiggle when I walk, and I’m 100 pounds lighter.
Or when someone does me or my kids wrong, I make up ugly, vile stories that I wouldn’t dare speak out loud in church.
If you hate me by now, you’re welcome to leave mean comments or just block me.
But I am guessing you do this, too. At least once in your life.
I’m afraid (and dare I say ashamed) that sometimes I even go so far as to act out my stories as if they were real. It gives me the courage to speak sweetly to my crush. It emboldens me in meetings. It helps me work out in the gym in front of actual people. But it’s just not reality-based. It’s not accurate. It’s especially hard when someone who cares about me calls it out. But I thank God for those who love me enough to call out my BS for what it is.
I have no tidy little answers section for you to read. I just don’t. What I do have is a cloak of embarrassment and anger at myself. Tonight especially. I’ve been living in a fantasy world where I’m fine, everything’s fine, I’m not angry or upset, I’m FINE!
But I’m not fine. My heart really, really hurts. So I’ll lean into the pain and grief until I exhaust these emotions, take them to the mat, and pin them there until they tap out.
If you got anything out of this tonight, thank God. Then get Brené Brown’s book.
Around this time each year, I reflect on the year behind and begin praying about what God has planned for the year ahead. For the past few years, I feel like God has given me a word(s) to focus on for the next year. 2014 – “Balance” (I transitioned from full-time student/stay-home mom to full-time working mom) 2015 – “Restore” (restored health & relationships) 2016 – “Words” (more writing, speaking) 2017 – “Disciplined Faith” – (learning to rely on faith in the midst of a whole lot of scary medical reports/moments) 2018 – “Measure” – (kicked out pre-cancerous cells, had lots of medical tests and a complicated Hysterectomy) 2019 – “More” – (More Bible reading, more practiced faith during 5 months of a job search, more balance and peace in my new job, more depth in friendships, but felt more heartache from disappointment, met more family I never knew, worked on more deep healing) 2020 – “Transition” – (well…there was certainly plenty of that in the middle of a pandemic) 2021 – “Steadfast Resistance” – (whoa…yep…this was a year of loss due to many deaths and people just moving on…I needed that steadfast resistance so I wouldn’t succumb to grief) 2022 – “Simply Move” – (moved positions at work, moved to a new house, Gavin moved to a new school, got a new car, moved to a new church, joined a new reunion group, reconnected with friends, lost some friends, started working with an amazing personal trainer, lost 51 pounds and counting, walked 263 miles since I started tracking in June, started writing with COMPEL Training)
2023 – “Quiet Strength” (looking forward to seeing what this looks like)
From peaceful dreams She stirs, then wakes. From whence she came She scarce can sense. What dreamers recollect, when waked Are just the bits her heart can glimpse. Her mind, in slumber, One-by-one, Connects the pieces Of lost days. First edges, corners, then a winding Path – the jagged Parts convey. When morning breathes, Then, piece-by-piece, The path, the pieces-parts reverse – Into the dark And dusty box, As if it’s something Long rehearsed. The memories the heart Recreates Both scratch and ease, Or so it seems. She scarce can sense From whence she came. She stirs, then wakes. From peaceful dreams.
I’m definitely a novice when it comes to fitness training. I’m starting a soul-care journey with a fantastic online personal trainer and he’s already taught me way more than he thinks about fitness AND about life. Stay with me to the end here.
So far he’s taught me to “water up” (fill up my 32 oz. water cup) when I get up in the morning and drink it BEFORE coffee. This was extremely hard at first. A few days in and it’s much easier. I “water up” before coffee, before lunch, and after work. I feel less inflammation on my joints. I can already tell this on any kind of steps or stairs.
The next thing he taught me is to write down my victories along the way. When I walk longer. When I sleep better. When I feel more confident. I need to write these down and we celebrate together on Sunday nights. We only started weekly meetings tonight, but I can already tell you that it’s gonna be a major highlight of my week.
The most important thing I’ve learned from him though, is to have the proper footwear. This is what I mainly want to talk about in this blog. Stay with me.
I did my first workout on this plan recently. I was doing squats, leg deadlifts, and shoulder presses and I quickly found that I was in the wrong shoes. I was in running shoes which are great for my 2-mile daily walks. But for lifts or squats, I needed more stability.
Running shoes:
To get ahead in running/walking, you need lightweight shoes that encourage a heel-to-toe movement. To get ahead in life you need to rely on education and/or experience, which encourages forward momentum. Clunky shoes (running/walking), or lack of skills and knowledge (job, family, hobbies) will only slow you down when you need to get ahead.
Cross-training:
When you have literal or figurative weights pressing on your shoulders, you need stable shoes (lifting, training, moving side-to-side) or stable friends/mentors/family members (life issues) to keep you steady. Running shoes here would only keep you wobbling on your ankles and potentially cause injury. The wrong sorts of people influencing you can also throw you off balance and potentially cause injury.
This all sounded better in my head during my 2-mile sunset walk tonight. This is just me, writing out loud.
Whatever “walk” of life you’re in or whatever “weight” is pressing on your shoulders, water up, celebrate your victories with a good friend, and make good choices that keep you either moving ahead or keep you stable while you make some gains.
Every Fall I receive a word for the next year. On December 1, 2021, I announced on Facebook that my word was “Simply Move”. A couple weeks after that I found a new word settling in my spirit: “Be Still”.
These words seemed marvelous and foreign and were shockingly – complete opposites. I loved everything about my life – finally. I didn’t want to move. At all. And I was simultaneously no good at being still. I’m honestly a bit of a workaholic.
Two weeks into the new year I got a wonderful new assignment at work. It was what I’ve worked hard for since 2011 when I decided to get my Master’s in Technical and Professional Communication. It was the first of many HUGE moves. With it came more responsibility and fulfillment than I’d ever thought possible. It was the best possible move.
A little while later, my folks announced their retirement from decades in paid, full-time ministry. Then about a month after that, my folks bought a new house and suddenly we (my son and me – being a single-parent in a multi-generational household) were going to move. And with that came learning a new part of town and a move to a new school zone.
What I failed to mention thus far, is that through the pandemic I became fearful, socially isolated, and sedentary. Since we’ve been in this new house, I’ve engaged a personal trainer and started moving a lot more. I’m down a significant amount in weight and up a significant amount emotionally. I needed this move!
When God says to move ahead, or to stop waiting for this or that or them or it, or to change direction (whether permanently or temporarily): I have learned to just do it. Words aren’t really necessary. He made the whole universe and all of its complexity. I fully trust Him. He knows what He’s doing. When he said move, he meant MOVE. I measure the authenticity of his message by being in the Word and praying. I can pick my best friend’s voice out of a crowd. When I’m walking with God, I’m able to know his voice too.
The final move this year came unexpectedly in the form of attending a new church. I don’t know how I feel about this quite yet. All I know is that, after decades of being in the spotlight as a pastor’s kid (which I loved and embraced while it was happening), I’m needing the anonymity provided in blending in with a new huge congregation and directing my whole focus to my relationship with God.
I feel a peace as I walk in this new direction God has for me. I also feel confident that those who really understand me will understand why this is a critical season for me.
With a new church comes fresh opportunities for Gavin to grow in his faith and find new places to serve. I am forever grateful for where we were, yet am extremely excited about where we’re going. I have no doubt we’ll be serving the community in no time as we settle in.
Move.
Be still.
Listen.
Obey.
This is what I’m about these days.
12 days of COVID just now plus a lingering ear infection and upper-respiratory infection have caused me to be still, to reach for the Word over TV, and to grow deeper with God and deeper in some relationships that will last a lifetime.
Alone tonight with thoughts far deeper than the glass in the Quaker Oats’ box. Thoughts far clearer than the crystal once it is cleaned of oats and sprinkled Quaker-dust. I know who holds my future, and am at this precise moment ashamed that I have attempted to hold it alone. Like picking oneself up as a child – what a ridiculous thought. For the very nature of us is not to hold ourselves, but to be held. To be held takes trust. Takes putting feet to surface and hoping either it holds steady, or that there is something else to suffice should it fail. Trust in God, our creator, redeemer, and Lord takes nothing more than letting ourselves go. Why this letting go proves difficult is beyond me. For me, letting go means that I might actually succeed (and with success comes the occasion to fail), or I might fail, or that life could stagnate and bore me to death, or take an unforeseen turn. It might, perhaps, mean that I have to let go of crutches like comfort food, shyness, pride, errant thoughts, etc. But I think what I fear most is the giving up, the letting go, the putting the hands of Time in the grip of my maker. I’ve held Time’s hand for as long as I can remember. Hurried it along to dates I regret, tests I half-read and then succeeded in failing, and highways that boasted flashing red and blue lights in my rear view. And slowed it down. Oh!, what mother hasn’t shushed the incessant tick-tocking when their baby is dropped off for their first day of kindergarten, middle school, high school, college, or, gasp!, their wedding shower. Hush! We say; in hopes it will change things. I’d sing Time a lullaby if I thought it would help, I’d pat its back and the whole thing. But the more I look back and beside and ahead, the more I understand that Time is best left in the hands of its creator. As am I.
I observed a most curious thing when I was in the pool this afternoon. Wasps weave a path straight over our little backyard pool and they often swoop down and grab some water on their way. This time when a wasp came down for water, it landed too hard and had to swim back up. I watched as it resurfaced, shook itself off, realized its wings were too wet to fly, and panicked. Have you ever seen a wasp panic? Neither had I before today. Though I assumed this little wasp had breathed its last (given the abundance of its friends that I’ve had to scoop out of the pool), I found a pool toy and let it get on top of that to hopefully dry off. Sure enough I began to see relief set in for our little hero. His wings began to flutter furiously as he instinctively fluttered them so they could dry out. He inspected his body, fluttered some more, then inspected again. This went on until his wings were dry. I finally watched him take off, slow and steady. I let out a “YES!” He didn’t even know I existed, though I was 3 inches from him. I was just background to him. He had no clue I gave him the toy to stand on. To him it must have just been an amazing thing (“coincidence”) that happened. I don’t know what was most awesome: watching him instinctively prepare for flight after taking a tumble, or realizing so many truths that can be taken from observing him. Such as: I’m born with instincts to protect and repair myself. What seems to me like “coincidence” seldom is. God is always at hand. He thought he was alone but I was 3 inches away….how close is God, really, when I’m too involved with my own healing to notice he’s right there helping? (And that without his help I’d be pool debris.) I’ll stop there so you can ponder. This is all so fascinating to me.
Poetic Thoughts 