not perfect, never will be

When I was a little girl, I loved to color. What little girl doesn’t? I remember coloring for hours on end with my cousin Shyla, plastic trays on our laps, markers and crayons on the couch between us. She was such an amazing colorer. Everything she did was detailed and intricate. I would catch glimpses of her beautiful creations and immediately crumple my own drawing and toss it to the floor. I would sneak glances at her work, copying everything she did in hopes that I would be able to create such beauty as well. I never quite mastered her talent.

Years later, however, I am still tossing things to the side at the slightest hint of imperfection. My mom calls it “throwing out the baby with the bath water” (a horrible saying if you ask me…). One thing out of place and the whole thing goes. It has somehow seeped into every area of my life, this need for perfection, all my ducks in a row. I'll get this idea in my head about how something is supposed to be and I can’t let go of it. I’ll keep going until I attain it. Sometimes this trait of mine is fabulous, and sometimes I find myself burdened with project after project, trying to perfect all aspects of my life.

Maybe you’re saying “I’ve been there”. Or maybe you have just decided that I’m crazy OCD and are about to X out of my blog and never read it again. Either way, you have been there. Some more than others, and some even more than that, but we are creatures constantly searching for perfection. After all, that is what we were created for ultimately. However, like many things, we attach our perfection to things like clothes, or relationships, or experiences, social status, the car we drive, our career. Somehow it seems as if we can just get this one thing right then everything will be okay.

Here's my slightly embarrassing example of what I'm talking about:

About 5 months ago a very dear friend of mine got married. As her wedding approached I realized that I didn’t really have any nice dresses that would work in April. So, my boyfriend agreed to go with me to look for one. {I must add here that he is such a brave soul,as any of you who have ever been shopping with me know}. Anyway we shop for about 2 hours and I still have found nothing that “works for me”. At this point we have been to H&M exactly 3 times already just to “make sure I didn’t miss anything”. We make a pit stop at the food court where Eric gets a pretzel and a lemonade and we sit down so he can eat and I can mope. A few minutes later after too much time inside my own head, I decide I am done and want to go home.

On the way home I burst out crying. Confused and probably exhausted at this point, Eric gently asks me what is wrong. Then off I go explaining that I never look put together enough and for once I want to have a dress that everyone is jealous of and that my sister always looks so cute and next to her I look like a bum. When I am finally finished, I have reached an epiphany: it’s not about the dress, it’s about this need I have to feel completely put together in all aspects of my life in order to impress others and self soothe the emptiness in my heart that only my Savior can fill. 

How many meltdowns will I need to experience before can rely on him for the restlessness in my soul. He is one patient dude.

#blessed

I see a lot of these declarations in various forms all over Facebook. Usually referring to the healthy birth of a baby, a wedding, a fulfilling relationship; all of the things in life that we feel are wonderful gifts from God. And they are. But I have begun to wonder. What about babys born unhealthy (or not at all), a wedding that never happens, a relationship broken. Have you ever seen #blessed under a relationship status changed single? Or under a picture of a hurricane? Nope. For obvious reasons right? But that begs the question, why are some people “blessed” and others are not?

Disclaimer here. I am not out to get all you folks out there who feel so strongly blessed in some moments that you have to get it out there. In fact, I think it’s awesome to declare those moments when God’s presesence feels so overwhelmingly evident. It just makes me wonder about the times when we don’t feel his presence in such an evident way. We have begun referring to ourselves as blessed largely at times when we feel blessed.

What if we go through our whole entire lives without one “good” thing happening to us? I know that seems very unrealistic, but what if? Are we still “blessed”?  See, like with many situations here on earth, we believe something is true only if we feel it. For instance, “I feel God’s presence in this moment so he must be here, I don’t feel his presence in this moment so he is absent. I don’t feel like I love my husband anymore so I guess I don’t. Get the idea? If we feel it must be there, if we don’t it must not be.

I often wonder how the world would be a different place if we could really step out of believing feeling as truth. Could we feel blessed during tragedy? Wrapped in the warmth of the Holy Spirit in the midst of a natural disaster? Accepting our life as a blessing even when situations don’t feel that way?

 I’ll leave with this exercise: Try to think of one thing that doesn’t feel like a blessing but is.

I’ll go first… “I have to be moved out of my old apartment exactly 13 days before I can move into my new one. I am so blessed to have a place to stay in the meantime for free, with room for all of my junk that I’m bringing along.” The important thing to remember is that even If I didn’t have a place to stay and was homeless for the next 2 weeks, I would still be blessed. AMEN TO THAT!!!!!

livin on a prayer?

Prayer is an interesting thing. I, for one, have always struggled with the idea of prayer. Sometimes it seems so pointless to fold my hands and ask the God of the Universe to “answer my prayer”. I am wary of the times when I dutifully fold my hands, bow my head, and “pray”, all the while thinking about a million other things. And that is why I choose to keep prayer undefined. The idea of prayer the way it was presented to me in church (hands folded, eyes closed, kneeling) feels stiff and impersonal to me, so unlike the God I claim to be talking to. For me, prayer is anything from looking up to the sky after one too many things gone wrong and saying “seriously?” to kneeling beside my bed in a meditative state. And frankly, I don’t think it matters to God, as long as we’re letting him in.

Last night I talked on the phone for 2 straight hours and loved every minute of it. I went upstairs, got comfy and had some amazing conversations with two amazing people. I set apart a special time in my evening for them. I set apart no special time with God yesterday.

So I got a little mathematical about it. I picked the person I set apart the most time for: Eric (my boyfriend) and calculated the number of hours I spend with him on an average week: 40 (the number of hours considered full time at most jobs). Then I calculated the number of hours I spend with God on an average good week: 3. Then just to really prove my point to myself, I put that against the number of hours I spend watching TV: 7. Well, there you have it folks, I watch more TV then I spend talking with my Savior.

So naturally I had a huge conversation with myself concerning my recent mathematical findings, and I came to this realization: It is absolutely absurd for me to believe that I can have a relationship with my God if I don’t give Him the time a deep, rich relationship needs. TV may seem like just the thing I need after a long day at work and a strenuous walk with my puppy Max, but without fail, every time I choose to spend time talking to God, I am refreshed in ways that Law and Order and spending time with Eric will never refresh me. He has got to be my center, my everything, the relationship that is before all else.

I want to be an active member in my relationship with my creator and my friend, seeking and loving Him to the best of my human ability.

      

"Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all of your heart."

{Jeremiah 29:12-13}

listening ears

Two-year-olds don’t listen very well when there is only one of them, and they listen even less well when there are six of them. In those instances where two kids are crying, two more are hitting the crying ones, and the other two are pulling all the books out with no intention of putting them back, I muster up all of my patience and say, “friends, where are your listening ears?”. Some days they all look at me immediately upon hearing this, but usually I have to ask them each individually. They reach up and put their little hands on both their ears, showing me that “their listening ears are on”. In all honesty, I sometimes like when they are not listening just a little bit because it’s so incredibly cute to watch them “put their listening ears on”.

It had never really occurred to me that there might be instances where my listening ears aren’t on. Then a few days ago reality hit. My small group was doing an exercise in listening to God where we were supposed to ask him for a symbol of our relationship with him and let him lead us to it. Well, once I remembered the assignment a few days later, I asked him to show me what my symbol was. Then I went about my life, taking care of Max, working, trying to fit my relationship with Eric in there somewhere. Finally, this week, I had to admit that I hadn’t heard back from God about my symbol. “I waited,” I said, “he didn’t give me anything.” My small group leader assured me that was fine and asked me about what the whole process was like for me. I ended up talking all about Max and how he wakes up a lot at night and needs a lot of attention and on and on and on. “Do you think Max might be your symbol, Lizz?” she asked. CRAP! How could I have missed it?! Max is the symbol of everything God is trying to teach me at this stage in my life, I even blogged about it earlier this week! Crap Crap Crap. He's been trying to tell me this whole time! WHERE ARE MY LISTENING EARS?!!

I had to face the facts. When it comes to my relationship with God, I can read my bible 24/7, pray unceasingly, and love others with all that I have, but If I do not have my listening ears on, I am missing a HUGE part of a relationship with Him. How can I possibly know what He wants for me if I am not listening? How can I overcome fear, and temptation, and just plain evilness if I am not listening to Him? Well I pretty much can't. So it's time to put on my listening ears.

messy moments

In the middle of life’s little speed bumps, I usually go right to “shut down” mode. I tend to forget every good thing that ever happened me to me in my whole entire life. I’m the kind of person who grabs ice cream and a big blanket at the first sign of discomfort. Deep down I think that I may actually believe that I’m not going to be able to handle whatever pain I know is coming. I brace myself, ready to fight. It never really occurred to me to put my fists down until very recently.

I can look back on my life and remember many nights sitting on my floor in my ninja turtle Snuggie, waiting for the ground to open up and swallow me whole. I’ve been told that I am a tad bit dramatic, but regardless, I’m sure many of you can relate to my messy moments. And I am a firm believer in the healing properties of pity parties, although mine tend to last a little bit too long. They would go on for months if I let them, and sometimes I do.

When I was little and frustrated, my messy moments consisted of sprawling myself out on the cold kitchen linoleum and crying or just lying there motionless. My mom might have called it a tantrum, but I think it was more than that. The floor was the only thing that felt real to me in moments of child distress, like we had an understanding. I could just lay there with the dust mites and the crusty macaroni under the refrigerator and nothing was expected of me. But the floor wasn’t just where I fell to pieces; it was also the place where I healed. And once again, my childhood has taught me something so valuable. To crumble to the ground and rise up renewed, leaving the pain right there on the floor.

Not to say that is always the easiest thing. I still try to combat all emotions with my own strength before I crumble. I have always wished for a life without pain and maybe I still believe that experiencing pain makes me weak. 

It often seems like it would fix everything if we just didn’t experience suffering, if we never “hit the floor”. But man oh man; if I never had any floor moments I would be a complete shell of a person. All those times I’ve fallen and gotten up again, those moments of complete heartbreak and those moments of pure joy. They go hand in hand; you can’t have one without the other. So while I experience moments of deep pain. I also experience moments of deep, deep joy. And because I feel pain so deeply, I also feel joy in its purest form. I’m learning to be thankful for those bittersweet moments. The ones that come in like a lion and go out like a lamb. The moments when I’m on my knees, not because I’m praying, but because I feel as if I can’t go another step. Those moments of excruciating pain where I find the peace that passes all understanding.

i'm selfish and i know it

Selfishness is placing concern with oneself or one's own interests above the well-being or interests of others.

-Webster

I recently found myself in possession of a small puppy that a neighbor of mine found wandering in the street. He is the kind of puppy that is cute without even trying; but he is also the kind of puppy that poops everywhere, humps all the living room pillows, and doesn’t respond to “shut up” when he’s barking at 3am. He needs constant attention and when he doesn’t get it he bites or finds my favorite shoes and entertains himself. But oh the moments when he curls up on my lap with his little puppy head on my chest and watches Dawson’s Creek with me; they are too sweet to bear.

After I bawled my eyes out two nights ago about Max’s inhability to tell the difference between my carpet and the grass outside, I came to the realization that I generally don’t want to be bothered with things that upset my quaint little life. Max is a major upset in my life because he is forcing me to think about something other than myself basically all the time. Interestingly enough, I recently moved into the position of 2 year old teacher at the childcare center I work at and have found myself faced with the same challenge at work as I now have at home with Max. It cannot be all about me anymore.

I have never been a parent, but I imagine that being one would have a similar effect on someone. It is suddenly about someone else’s needs way more than your own. You may not have time to eat lunch or sleep through the night or get to relax on a Saturday anymore. So maybe I am learning this lesson a little bit earlier than some people, which must mean that I really need to get a handle on this particular area of my life.

*****IT’S NOT ALL ABOUT ME*****

And I mean that in many more ways than one. Not only is it not all about me because I am in charge of six 2-year-olds and a 2 month-old puppy, but it’s not all about me because I am one person in a big big world.

Usually when I buy coffee I scout out the cheapest brand that has a vanilla type flavor and leave it at that. I am not a coffee connoisseur, I just like to get through my day without losing my mind. Anyhow, the other day as I was picking up my coffee I noticed something. I felt guilty about buying the cheapest brand of coffee without any thought to the farmers who are paid next to nothing for all their hard work. I even began imagining their family of seven; kids in bare feet, very little food to eat, dirt floors, one room shack. Then it hit me; I am worried about spending a few extra bucks on fair trade coffee when there are people out there relying on those few extra bucks in order to live. I was a little bit ashamed of myself.

This is just one small example of my day-to-day selfishness. At times I am unaware of it, which is so much more dangerous than the times when I am able to realize it.  Selfishness is often seen as an evil quality, one that bad people have and not good people. But I disagree. We are selfish; it is a human quality. We just have to be willing to admit that and take whatever steps we need to take to be a little bit less selfish. For me that starts with buying fair trade coffee.

“It is a trait we hate in other people but justify in ourselves.” 

Stephen Kendrick

the point

I spend a lot of time wondering what is and is not a waste of my time, energy, and money. I somehow picked up on this belief that it’s up to me to make sure that there is “purpose” in everything I do, say, buy, and everywhere I go. But I am starting to realize more and more that while I can do my best to listen and follow, but no matter what my life has purpose.

By now you should be recognizing a slight theme in my blog posts. I struggle with finding purpose in the day to day of life. Now don’t get me wrong, I find life very enjoyable, but I still manage to stress myself out by this idea that I can’t find a greater purpose in everyday situations like changing 20 poopie diapers or watching NCIS. Fortunately for me I am dating someone who is awesome at finding purpose in everyday life. Unfortunately for me, I seem to be a slow learner at this one.

Over Easter this year I went to visit my aunt and grandma in Virginia. On Sunday morning we got up and I had some candy for breakfast (naturally) and we headed off to their church. I was wearing a new dress, one that I had bought a few weeks before and kept the tags on until that day just in case I wanted to take it back. The pastor spoke about a trip he had taken a few weeks before. I want to say that it was somewhere in Africa. Anyway, He talked about how the team he was with loaded up a truck full of food to take to a community of people living amidst the town dump (literally). Half of the group prepared the food a little ways off as the other half explored and met the people. As soon as the meal was ready all the men and boys came over excitedly ready to eat, the women did not. Upon further investigation, all of the women and girls were crowded around a few college students who were painting their nails.  The pastor said it was one of the most touching things he has ever seen.

I heard another story once about a soldier in a hospital during WWII. He had many injuries and was in a lot of pain. The nurse who was caring for him propped him up on his pillows and helped him take some medicine. As she turned to leave she asked him if their was anything else that she could do for him. He nodded and said, “Can you put on some lipstick while I watch?”

Both stories are situations where there are great needs, but the things that seemed to comfort most are the simple, beautiful things. Where food seemed most important, it took a back seat to the excitement of painted nails. The pain of many injuries was great, but the normalcy of watching makeup be applied was greater. There is something to be said about the things in life that seem extravagant. Some might have said that Bibles should have been given to those girls instead of manicures. But those girls will never forget that.

Sometimes we miss the point. We go off looking for purpose and forget all the important things around us. Because no matter where we are or what we do, we have a purpose far beyond what we see. 

everything grows towards the light

Today I was talking to someone very dear to my heart about making “bad” choices. I use “bad” loosely because I don’t like the word, I feel that it encourages shame. But for the sake of this post, I am going to use it. After I hung up the phone, I found myself making a mental list of all the bad choices I’ve made in my almost 23 years on planet earth. I was just getting to the bad choices of my 18^th year when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror on my wall. This mirror is a really cheap plastic framed one that the last tenants left in my room, one I really only ever use it to make sure that my shoes go with the rest of my outfit. So you could say that up until today it was the least important of all of my mirrors. But today as I looked into the eyes staring back at me, all I saw was a blonde haired, hazel-eyed young woman wearing old running shorts and a t-shirt that badly needed to be made into a rag. I didn’t see any of my past choices or the people that may have judged me too harshly or even the hammer that I keep in my own head to come down on myself in guilt and shame. All I saw was the same face, eyes, and knobby elbows and knees that have been there all along.  And It dawned on me, not only am I the me I have always been regardless of the places I’ve passed along the way, but I think that I am a better version of that self because of what I’ve been through.

I began to wonder how many other people this is true for. How many more screw ups are there out there who look at all the different paths they have taken and come to the same realization, that those things have only made them a better version of themselves. You see, I have come to believe more and more in this idea that everything grows towards the light, including people. Some may argue that you are only growing towards the light if you are a good person right then, not ________(fill in the blank with a "bad" thing). But I am not sure if I would agree with that. I think that in every moment we are growing towards the light. Even the murderers imprisoned for life. And that is God’s great plan. No matter how hard we think we’re screwing things up, and no matter how evil other people may think that we are or how evil we may think that others are, we are all still growing towards the light in a way that is unique to us.

mailbox missionaries

“Never worry about numbers. Help one person at a time and always start with the person nearest you”

-Mother Theresa

When I think about all the people in the world in need, I either watch an episode of FRIENDS so I don’t have to think about it, or I think about it and come to the conclusion that the world is screwed.

 I am big thinker. I want an end to hunger and war and pain before lunch, and I want it in one big miracle. The problem with being a big thinker is that once you realize that you’re thinking too big you get so discouraged that you immediately lose hope in the little things, those things close to home. Those things that may matter more than we think. 

I may never go to Africa or Guatemala or Mexico. I may never go on a ‘mission trip” (as defined by the Church) in my entire life. But I want to make a difference in the lives around me, no matter how small and insignificant it may seem to my big thinking self.

Sometimes when I think about investing in other people I just get really tired. I make all sorts of excuses for myself, like, Dr. Phil is on, or someone else will probably send them a card, or the mailbox is too far away. But when I really stop to think about it, there’s no reason great enough to excuse me from encouraging and loving others especially those so close to us. When it comes to being the hands and feet of Jesus, maybe that can simply mean writing someone a card of encouragement and walking your butt to the mailbox. 

So let’s love in a real, everyday way. Let’s meet people where they are with some ice cream and a movie. Let’s sacrifice ourselves to bring others healing and love in all sorts of contexts. Let’s go where he sends us, knowing that sometimes that may simply be to the mailbox.

made up words

When I first started this blog, my father was the first person to say, “alivety is not a word, what are you doing.” You see my dad is a scholar and thus making up words is not something he quite understands. But being the weirdo creative person I am, I make up words all the time (you should try it). The word alivety, however was a word I started using during a hard time for me last year. I wanted to keep track of the moments where immense joy or “aliveness” came out of intense pain or “deadness” and so when I needed to describe it in my journal I would call it alivety.

We often see life as made up the big things like graduation, or marriage, or having a baby, or retiring. And so we go through life waiting for it to start, waiting for the next big thing.  Often I need to remind myself of the little things. I forget that my little heart is beating without my help, and that my lungs know how to work without my direction, and that no matter how hard I try not to I have to blink. I forget to be thankful for the very fact that I am alive. Sometimes the reminder is a beautiful sunset, or a warm shower after a cold day, or a stack of pancakes. 

The sad thing is that when we try and distract ourselves from the deep pains of life, we end up distracting ourselves from those deep joys as well. They don’t seem as rich or full, or maybe sometimes we don’t even see them at all. In moments when I really get this, I am discouraged. Usually it’s after spending three straight hours stalking people on Facebook or after inhaling my lunch in a record 5 seconds and realizing I didn’t taste a thing. What happened to experiencing things? What happened to allowing life to course through our veins in every moment joyful and painful?

I truly experience life in the mos unexpected situations; like break-ups, or the flu, or intense fear. At these times, I am very much aware of what is going on around me. There are so many little things piercing my heart, and so many little things soothing my soul. Many of you can relate.That morning after your heart has been broken, when you wake up and finally feel a glimpse of hope. When you’ve been sick for days and you finally feel better enough to eat some cinnamon toast. Coming to the realization that fear is just a feeling and it’s not going to kill you.

 Life at every turn is a gift. It cannot afford to be missed or rushed past.

moment to moment

Finally spring has sprung! 

Flowers are blooming and I haven’t worn my big brown parka in a few weeks. Winter is over! No more snowy, slushy, freezing weather. And you know what that means??? It means that in a few months from now everyone will be complaining about how hot it is.

In winter we are dreaming of spring and summer; in the summer we are waiting for fall and the first snowfall. What exactly is our problem with loving the moment we are in?

We’re always looking for the next thing to satisfy, whether it’s nicer weather or a nicer home or a better paycheck. What a relief it would be if the most satisfying thing in every moment could be the moment itself, not dreaming of a different one.

Last January I took a J-term course at my college that took place in Costa Rica. Three blissful weeks in the most beautiful place I have ever been with some of the most amazing people that I have ever met. It is one of those places that you see pictures of and hear stories about, but still think It can’t possibly be quite as amazing as it sounds. But it is.

The first thing I noticed upon my arrival was how long it took to get through customs. The woman in front of me was gabbing away with the airport worker (meanwhile I was shifting my carry-on from shoulder to shoulder irritated). The next day it took us over 2 hours to get to the next town over because there was only one way to get there and that was up a windy, unpaved, mountain road. In Limon, my friends and I decided to stop for a fruit smoothie after an afternoon at the beach. We found a nice little place with a thatched roof, no walls, and sand floors and sat down at a table. Twenty minutes passed before our waitress appeared to give us our menus. Being the most obnoxious of the four, I was immediately frustrated with the lack of service. When our drinks arrived thirty minutes later I began the discussion on whether or not it was rude to not tip her. But Costa Ricans simply don’t see things that aren’t urgent as urgent. 

They enjoy life in a way that I have never quite been able to.

The idea is simple (so naturally we complicate it): There is nowhere that you need to be that is more important than right here, right now. 

Matthew 6:34 "Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

Psalm 118:24 "This is the day that the Lord has made; Let us rejoice and be glad in it".

High heels and contentment

Almost daily I look in my closet and decide that I need more heels because if I had them I would look cute and put together all the time like Carrie from Sex and The City. But the truth of the matter is that I don’t really wear heels, I just always want to be the kind of person who does. Most days I put on my beat up beloved UGGS or my moccasins or my flip-flops and trot off to wherever it is that I am going. But how cool would I be if I wore heels to the grocery store or the movies or even out to breakfast!

People would wish that they were as stylish and daring as I was; they would look at me jealously as I would walk down the cereal aisle and pass through the deli section. So I tell myself, you NEED more heels so that you are a someone that other someone’s notice.

Last year at this time I was planning my future and making subconscious lists in my head of the things that I would need in order to be content. And every day of every year from the moment I was born, I was wishing for something that I didn’t have, hoping for something different. But here I am, at a place in my life where I have so many of those things that I wished for, so many of those things that I “needed” in order to be content. But it still doesn’t feel like enough. I am still craving more.

I know that I am not alone in this. Most people I know would say that they have lived their life the very same way; the rest of them are probably lying. So what is the key to contentment? What “gets” us there?

I am sorry to say that is the problem right there. I have never felt less content than when I am planning my path to contentment. In fact, contentment has nothing to do with planning or control or perfection. It is completely about the moment and connection to self. Contentment is never found in striving to be something you are not.

How many millions of dollars do human beings spend on searching for contentment and peace? How many drugs do we consume and sexual relationships do we jump into and how much reality TV do we watch thankful that we are not as disgusting as the people that we are watching. And if no one else will admit it I will. I admit that every single reality show I watch makes me feel like I am a complete and total angel, blessed beyond words, the farthest thing from mean and conceited and selfish.

 I read a book once about all of the beautiful little things in life. It was a book about a journey, not a destination. A story of islands of contentment and peace, not a constant euphoric feeling. It’s about a beautiful sunset, a dinner with friends, resting in the arms of someone you love. Contentment is there when you stop looking for it. It is s much there in the long hours of the job that you hate as it is there in your once In a lifetime vacation to Hawaii. It makes no difference where you are as long as you are there loving yourself, loving others, loving your creator from the deepest depths of your soul.

So what are your heels? What are those things that you feel like you need in order to belong, to be noticed, to be content and happy.  Who knows, you may find that you actually don’t really wear heels anyway.

being raw.

I like for people to see me as strong and confident, a blonde haired Eleanor Roosevelt. And while this may come as quite a shock to some of you, I don’t always feel that way. Sometimes I do and on those days I feel like I could take on the world, but more frequently are the days when I get up and have no idea what to wear, and no energy to smile at the people who won’t smile back. And I have decided that it’s time we all stop pretending that we have it all together.

For so many of us, the most precious parts of ourselves are buried deep beneath a façade. Every inch of us itches to express all the things that are so carefully hidden, locked away in the depths of our souls. We find ways to release those parts; maybe when we are drunk, or through an annual emotional breakdown, or binging until the wee hours of the morning. But what would it mean for us to welcome every sad, fearful, weird part of ourselves. What if it didn’t take an overdose, or a panic attack, or a suicidal thought to start listening to our hearts. Somewhere along the line we have forgotten how to be raw. We have forgotten how to deeply connect to each other, ourselves, our God. We have created this world where it is not okay to be completely human and thus have denied the deepest parts of ourselves in order to fit into it. 

This past January, almost the entire U.S. had the flu. Some had the achy, coughy, fevery flu and others had the nasty stomach flu. In both cases I kept coming across people who claimed they had “food poisoning” or “seasonal allergies”. So that got me wondering why it is sometimes so hard for us to admit when we are sick. Not only that, but there are so many things that are so hard for us to come to terms with; For instance, getting older. We spend so much time, energy, and money on creams and dyes and laser treatments to pretend that things aren’t sagging or wrinkling or falling out. And the truth is that I also don’t want anything to sag and I don’t want to admit that I am sick or weak. I am afraid of what people will think. 

That’s the underlying fear right? What will people think of me? Will I be rejected if I am a real, vulnerable person? Is there a place for me in this world if I don’t have abs, get the stomach virus, don’t whiten my teeth, and can’t afford highlights? 

And so i leave you with this. You don't have to create your place in this world, your deepest self perfectly fills the place that you were created for. So welcome that deepest self with open arms. After all, Jesus already has.

the sweet grace of Jesus

Today marks a momentous occasion. It is the day that I post my first official blog post EVER! And considering how long it took me today to create this thing, that is an incredible feat.

Anyhow, since it is Easter, I thought that I would start with some words on Grace...

Something about that word is so soothing, like a hot cup of tea for the soul. I think a lot about Grace because I know I would be lost without it. Grace, for me, encompasses love and forgiveness and undeserved kindness all in one. According to Webster, Grace means extending love and kindness to someone who is completely unworthy. 

Now I know that I am unworthy, but I also usually think that people who hurt me are way more unworthy. Especially in those moments where I am absolutely positive that I am right and the other person is wrong, which in all honesty is most of the time…

But there are certain instances when grace is more than just getting over your pride. There are times when the pain is so real, so deep, that extending grace seems out of the question; when your heart has been broken into a million pieces and you can’t seem to put them back together. But I am learning little by little that the first step to healing always begins with grace.

Recently I have been feeling challenged in this particular area of my life. I’ve been reading through the New Testament recently, more importantly, the gospels. And by the time I got to Luke, I had become very interested in Jesus’ relationship with Judas Iscariot (don’t lose focus I PROMISE this is not a bible lesson). Judas was a chosen disciple. But he also betrayed Jesus in a horrific way, delivering him to those who would crucify him. Jesus knew what he was planning, but he invited him to walk with him and eat with him. It is a stunning thing really, an unfathomable kind of grace. I am pretty sure I would just say “more for me” and pull his chair away from the table.

But it was in this Ahah! moment that I had a newfound love and respect for Jesus. He knowingly allowed Judas to get close to him, fully aware of the pain that would accompany his betrayal. That is Grace people. That is our biggest and most beautiful example of how we are to treat others.

All that I know is that I want to love like Jesus loved Judas. I want to extend grace to the people in my life who have hurt me the most. I want to run with my eyes fixed on Jesus so steadily that nothing else can cling to my heart.