8.30.16// Today, before the coffee, before the teeth brushing and dog feeding, I put my running shoes on. I do this on the days I'd rather stay in bed. Because if I don't, I'll stay in bed, at least figuratively - letting life happen to me, barely participating and certainly not engaging. And it never fails - if I'm dressed to run, then I'll run, and once I'm done running, I feel capable/productive/alive ... and, well, who wants to stay in bed when there's a life to be lived, you know?
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God and Life
I take my coffee outside in the mornings. The dogs expect it, wait for me to get my flip flops and mug and then prance ahead of me to the door, eager to start their day. I move more slowly, stumbling to my chair, putting the coffee on the side table, and rubbing my eyes into a hesitant welcome of the day's sunlight ...
Today, as I went to place my coffee, this leaf stopped me mid-routine. An amber emblem, bright and beautiful, beckoning from a coming Fall. I needed this promise of change, this reminder that, well, despite a wealth of evidence to the contrary, seasons exist, pass, and combine for grand purposes.
Now, I suppose it COULD be taken as a bad sign - it is a dying leaf after all - but it spoke to me HOPE instead ... so I'm gonna go with that today ... a little bit of hope ... and be glad of it while I've got it :)
I've been struggling with Mondays. I feel my spirits drop as I enter Sunday, anxiety whispers a bit as Sunday evening falls, and come Monday a.m., I'm dragging, sometimes even despairing. So, I've been trying to figure out what that's about and, after much mental munching, I'm stuck between two possibilities (it could be a both/and, but I'm hoping it's more of a this or that) ...
1. My junk is getting in the way of potential joy. I have a history of experiencing negative emotions and thoughts when I feel inadequate in or unsure about something important. That pattern usually runs tandem to various forms of quitting. If I don't know what to do and feel like I SHOULD know what to do, I run. Not so much because I fear failure, but because I don't believe in myself enough to work hard and succeed. At my core, I sense I'm insignificant, lacking, even, and so, I prove self-defeating. Time and time again. Despite my acute awareness of this fact, I don't know that I've broken the habit yet. And, unfortunately, this work I do? I feel so inadequate at it all the time. Their problems? So big. My wisdom? So small. Eck.
2. This might not be my calling. This emotional/relational work, it might not be for me. This carrying the weight of people's expectations and hopes, this feeling so heavy as I struggle to know what to say, what to do, how to react to people's desire for saving — I can't love it. I don't. It feels wrong. Still, I don't know that I'm not just trying to hold onto something as part of the job that is actually NOT supposed to be part of it — this feeling like I'm supposed to know how to fix their stuff, or at least know how/where to direct them toward fixing their own stuff. That could be the problem - my impossible expectations for self. Or maybe it's not, and that's just an excuse - an attempt to disown something inherent in all who BELONG in the profession. I don't know.
But if it's not my calling (and, don't get me wrong - I think we can have lots of callings, places where God's unique design matches up with the world's needs), what is? What am I about?
I don't know.
Yesterday, someone asked me where I want to be in five years. My brain disintegrated. Because, I don't know anymore. I know I want to be married to the Mr., but that's all I've got. That, and maybe living slightly off the grid with a kid of our own and our dogs. I don't have energy around much else and that worries me.
Anyway, just more evidence of the ponder :) Until next time,
LOVE.
When did you stop dreaming?
When did you reconcile yourself to WHAT IS and stopped thinking about WHAT COULD BE?
Double-fisting in Jamaica
There are moments (usually when I'm buzzed) when I wish I could live buzzed. No less, no more. Just buzzed. Cause the girl I am when buzzed? I LOVE her, want to squeeze her and hang out with her, like, ALL THE TIME. She's me, the real me. Fearless me. Emotional me. She sings when there's a good song on, knowing full well she can't carry a tune. She can't help but move her body to a rhythm, even if no one else is feeling the song. She says what she means (and, it's usually love and truth). She's up for nearly everything (within her moral compass) - conversation or action or dream. She's living and noticing the moment. She's undistracted. She's really happy. She's hopeful. She's slow and easy - like a non-churchy Sunday morn. She's completely okay with all that she is and all that she is not. She's willing and able and sure ... of God and life and self.
And, I love her. I really do.
I don't know many people like that in real life. I want to know more people like that in real life. Fun and easy and real and present. How do I find those people? How do I get that way ALL THE TIME without imbibing? Is it possible this side of heaven? In this culture?
I lean toward "no." But, I'm trying. I'll keep trying. Healing. Sanctifying. Getting closer to who I was designed to be. I'm trying.
So, "cheers" in the interim?
LOVE.
For years and years, I have tried and tried and tried to drink more water. For the sake of my skin, muscles, digestion … by glory, I have tried. And failed. Over and over and over again. And it’s not even like I don’t like water. I actually like it. Purified, tap, sparkling or spring — I’ll take it. I just suck at remembering to drink it.
I often tell my clients to eliminate obstacles and incorporate helps when working to achieve goals. If they want to work out in the midst of a necessarily busy schedule, join a gym they pass on their commute. If they want to quit smoking, first toss the carton and get a box of patches or buy a vape. So, when I wanted to start drinking more water, I knew having water with me at all times would be essential to success … so, a hunt for the perfect portable water bottle began.
“Portable = Light. Small. Refillable. Comfortable and easy to drink from on the go. Indestructible.”
And, ridiculous or not, my hunt has continued for years. Many a BPA-free plastic bottle has graced my kitchen counter and eventually made its way into a cabinet coffin. My goal of hydration had all but fallen to the wayside when I stumbled upon FRED in the aisle of my local Fresh Market.
Yup, it’s shaped like a flask. Yup, it looks like a small vodka bottle ... but it comes filled with water and is refilled with water several times a day … by ME (Miss Couldn't Ever Remember to Drink Water). Yes, I'm drinking water these days like it's going out of style. Granted, my recent increase in water intake also coincides with the recent acquisition of our first refrigerator with an in-door filtered water dispenser, BUT I’ve also never been happier with a water bottle than I am with this FRED flask (learn about the product and company here).
But, WOW, THE LOOKS I GET when I take a swig out of that thing.
Seriously, I meet judgement on a daily basis. Even people that know me (clients, co-workers, friends and family) have done double-takes. And all of this condemnation tossed my way (unwarranted) has gotten me to thinking ...
... About how often I have judged people without knowing the details of THEIR story
… About how often I have condemned another based on assumption and an unwittingly ignorant, self-biased perception.
... About how little compassion I offer to those who appear different from me.
See, it looks like I’m throwing back whisky, but it's actually my attempt at getting what I need — life-giving H2O. I've chosen to drink water out of a flask because that works best for me as a I pursue healthy and whole. I am okay with how that's not always known and/or perceived as okay by others.
Every sideways glance of recent has been a reminder not only to continue working on self-compassion and self-acceptance, but to also cut others a break and refrain from judgement.
Unless given the privilege to hear and enter into another’s story, I cannot know why they are who they are and what they’re actually doing. My profession teaches me that in glimpses on the regular, but sometimes, when it’s personally impactful, I finally apply the lesson I’ve been learning ....
So, I’m grateful for FRED … for making it easier to reach my goals … that of healthy hydration AND that of growing in Christ-like compassion.
Join me?
It's a surreal statement.
I was growing a human. Me. I still don't quite grasp it. Despite the positive pregnancy tests. Despite the morning sickness. Despite the unusual cravings. Despite the ultrasound that proved it and ended it. Despite having the surgery that removed it. Still doesn't feel quite real.
But, I was pregnant. For two months, I was a mom ... body and mind. My boobs hurt and my free time was spent considering the merits of various strollers. And then, well, I just wasn't. Pregnant, that is. And the hormones tapered off. My boobs felt normal. And I cleared the cache on my computer so I'd stop seeing baby gear ads.
This is the reality of a miscarriage. Intense feeling and a hesitancy to let the feeling flow.
At least not for me.
Come the close of Christmas Day, I start yearning for Spring. Every year, as December arrives and hurtles toward holiday hurrah, I start clamoring for sunny days. My soul longs for Resurrection. My spirit scans for lake views. My body begs for the freedom of a bikini. I think my neural pathways find their way to joy more easily when the middle of March comes around. By April, I find myself acquainted with hope. By May, I believe in a reality of abundant life. But, until then? I struggle. And ache for something more. Something different. And this week — the one immediately following the emotional high of Christmas — is the hardest to plod through …
But, I’m walking … little steps today toward the March … April … May of tomorrow.
I am grateful for ...
His sacrifices — he's working three jobs to keep us financially floating and comfortable. All three jobs are thankless and often lonely. They wear him out - physically and emotionally. But he rarely complains. And he's still a present husband. He's more tuned into my needs and giving me what I need (and sometimes what I don't even know I need) than I could have ever hoped for or expected. His love is daily testament to selflessness.
His boyishness — he's got a youthful giddiness about him when he's excited about things. He throws himself unrestrained into projects and ideas. He's a baby/kid whisperer. Maybe it's because he's got a wonderful innocence and curiosity about him that's too rare. Either way, he's a regular delight and just being with him is teaching me how to play.
His willingness — he tries, he learns, he asks, he answers. He's up for whatever. Whether it's seat dancing to Taylor Swift, camping down the road, remodeling the kitchen, or sailing the inter-coastal, he is accessible. Invested. Game on. He doesn't deny his fear and his anxiety, but he steps over what threatens to hold him back from life on a regular basis. It's inspiring. And his openness forces mine.
His skin — it's warm and soft and smells perfectly comforting. Cuddled on the couch, snuggling in bed or simply holding hands as we walk into the store, touching him feels like safety and security. It's just the best.
He's the best. And I am blown away blessed that he picked me.
Contentment is really hard. Right now, I want more clients. I want community. I want a hot tub. I want thinner thighs. I want black heeled booties. A massage. And a pedicure. The list goes on ... and the chance of getting all I want — of any of us getting all we want — is nil, so I'm feeling like maybe it's time to shift my focus a bit to ...
Gratitude. It's time to concentrate on WHAT I HAVE. And since I'm three days into the month, without further ado, Days 1, 2, and 3 of my 30 Days of Gratitude:
I'm grateful for ...
Paul (of Bible fame). He's a reminder that I can learn to LOVE people I don't necessarily LIKE. He's also a reminder that God uses everyone to teach us about Himself and life with Him. Paul's loud and boastful and self-centric. In real life, I'd probably steer clear of the guy, but when I'm cruising the Bible and talking God's truth with clients, Paul is my go to. He was HUMAN and working toward holy and letting himself be messy along the way. I love that. I'm grateful that God chose to feature him and for what his inclusion in the Bible tells us about our Heavenly Father.
Kelsi (of Bardwell fame). She spent years putting up with my grumpiness and worked hard for my admiration ... and she didn't owe me an ounce of that mercy. Today, she's one of the few who let me know when I'm missed, valued or wanted. I'm always grateful she's family, but today, I'm really thankful she's my friend.
Hot showers. For sick days (like today), depressed days and sticky days, a cascade of warm water can work miracles.
“I have a theory that burnout is about resentment. And you beat it by knowing what it is you’re giving up that makes you resentful.”
What are you about? What are your core values?
Your priorities? What truly matters to you?
I lob those questions (or similar) at clients occasionally ... and I'd say it's a 50/50 split when it comes to someone having an answer at ready. And even then, those quick with an answer usually wind up amending their response as a session progresses.
The lesson? We're all a little confused when it comes to being honest with ourselves, especially about ourselves! Without a standard of truth, it's very easy to get lost ... especially when life gets busy, change comes and details threaten to consume.
So, in a busier season than I've experienced in awhile, I've been challenged to make sure I KNOW WHAT I'M ABOUT ... so that I don't get lost and/or distracted and grow resentful. 'Cause, you know, hypocrisy sucks. As does regret ...
In re-reading Shauna Niequist's Bittersweet recently, I came across a portion (read the awesome chapter here) in which she talks about what her life is about ... and the day she came face-to-face with the reality that:
“It’s not hard to decide what you want your life to be about. What’s hard, [her friend said] is figuring out what you’re willing to give up in order to do the things you really care about.”
As a result, she made a list of what she's about ... and what she's not. I like that idea. Seems clarifying. So, I'm giving it a try.
What am I about? Some of the following:
- Letting the light in. I'm outdoors or tugging blinds open every chance I get. I like God best when I'm in nature. I believe in hope easier when the sun is out. I was made for a Garden and something core in me is restless when stuck indoors.
- Putting my husband first. I want an awesome marriage. I think we're called to such things — to reflect the glory of God in our joining. I want our marriage to shine hope and joy and a whole lot of potential in Jesus ... so, the Mr. gets first dibs on my time, my sacrifice, my attention and my growth.
- Valuing vacation and travel. I choose budgeting for getaways, play, adventure and experiences over new clothes, house renovations, new cars and speedy student loan payoffs.
- Self-care. I've learned to listen to my body and to honor what it's telling me. As a result, I eat better, cleaner and, sometimes, just in response to cravings (this explains my vanilla custard/rainbow sprinkles, chocolate cake and buffalo wing obsessions). I go walking or running when I ache. I lay down the cash for a massage when I can feel the toxicity building up. I nap when I'm tired. And, I wine when I'm anxious, beer when I'm happy ... :)
- Banning busy. I want my life to breathe, to have space to flex and wonder and wander. It's in the empty, quiet spaces that I hear God, feel, find clarity and am acted upon by the extraordinary. I'm not going to give that up for any amount of money, prestige, friends, followers or affirmations.
Things I'm NOT about? A glimpse of some of What I Don't Do:
- Keep my house spotless and organized. We LIVE here ... life is messy and I have better things to do with my time.
- Church. At least, not the "go to a building on Sundays" Americana, megachurch version. Instead, I'm spiritually hungry for (and nurtured/inspired by) consistent community, authentic conversations, personal reading and shared prayer.
- Say yes if I'd rather or need to say no. This is a daily struggle for a recovering perfectionist, caretaker type, but I'm getting better at it ... and learning to enjoy the freedom that comes with an honest "no."
- Respond to my phone just because it dings or rings. Just because we live in a culture of urgent doesn't mean we have to succumb to it's demands. My phone stays on "vibrate" and, yes, that's because I don't want to always know I'm wanted, needed or on someone else's schedule. This is part of how I un-shoulder the expectations of others and allow myself to LIVE PRESENT.
- Try to be something I'm not. This is especially true when it comes to hair and makeup. I do both for work (most of the time), but rarely otherwise anymore. I don't have "perfectly put together" in me — genes or otherwise — so, I've quit trying to hit that mark ... and, honestly, I kind of like the "effortless" look/reality of my air-dried hair, freckled skin, and sports bra, tank-top wearing body.
There's more ... for another post and another day. But, in the meantime, again, I ask you: What are you about? Does your current life reflect those things? If not, what's holding you back?
It's one of those days. The ones where all feels ick. My husband snuggles me on the couch and looks into my eyes with his blue ones, searching and kind, and I'm overwhelmingly grateful and completely numb, both at once.
These days seem to come out of nowhere ... and yet part of me feels like they're the price I pay for having hope. Like the universe is shaking it's head and muttering a "foolish girl."
Because, I felt pretty great last week. It felt really nice. I had a meeting on Wednesday that gave me energy and encouragement and a bit of hope I hadn't felt in a LONG time.
Thursday was good.
Friday was another meeting that at least felt like something progressive and hopeful.
And the weekend was fun — from puppy shopping to waverunner riding with friends, it was a steady stream of happy that worked to keep hope alive.
But then Monday. And the ick factor.
I catch myself in automatic negative and self-deprecating thoughts. The old feelings of inadequacy and insecurity return. The sense of financial and professional stuckness and a related despondency set in deep. Opportunities feel like burdens and yet, when I refuse to shoulder those "burdens", a weight of shame descends.
Changing your inner narrative is hard. It's a battle. It's taking every thought captive and holding it up to the Truth and deciding to believe differently about myself and life and God. It's a little bit exhausting, this inner work, but it's my work today ... and every day ... because Hope is worth the struggle.
I think. I hope?!
My state-required bi-weekly supervision sessions are costly, but they're worth it. Especially last week's hour.
A little backstory: Eight months into my new career and building my own business, I've been fighting a feeling of failure. I've been fretting over my lack of client hours (seriously, why did I choose a career in which it is my job to make my job obsolete?!) and the fact that a lack of client hours results in a lack of experiential learning opportunities. A lack of learning makes me feel largely inadequate. So, I been frettin'.
Frankly, I've moved beyond fretting to full-on desperation. So, with a lack of clients to talk about in last week's supervisory session, the conversation turned toward me and my fight against feeling like a failure. The conversation didn't start out that way. It started with me talking about all the things I was DOING to fix my perceived "problem."
Him: "So, you're scrambling."
Me: "Yea, I'm scrambling. [thinking] I don't want to be bad at this counseling thing. I can't afford for this not to work."
Him: "Why do you scramble?"
Me: "I don't want to talk about this."
Why didn't I want to talk about it? Because I can't handle this feeling of failing. I don't enjoy feeling like I'm not in control. I don't like being needy and vulnerable and uncomfortable. What does it say about me if I can't get this done right and well and NOW?
My supervisor, himself a great counselor, knew my answer. He didn't expect me to answer. He knows I know. Then he told me the story again of the research done on what sets the most successful entrepreneurs apart from the scrambling masses ...
Turns out successful people never think of themselves as failures. Things they do may fail (i.e. that failed), but they, themselves, are never failures (i.e. I failed).
So, as of right now, I have this knowledge that I'm not a failure ... but making it heart knowledge is where I'm a little bit stuck. If I don't rock this ... and the money and the acknowledgement doesn't flow ... somehow I have to figure out how to believe that it's okay and that it's not a reflection on who I am.
And there I go ... a scramblin' again .... :) It's quite the ineffective, but instinctual little pattern of doing life I've got going on, ain't it?
Chances are, how you're doing life isn't quite working for you anymore either. How aware are you of your unhelpful habits of doing, thinking, being?
Welcome to the reality of (and the best proof of the need for) counseling:
"I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good. As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me. For I know that good itself does not dwell in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing. Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it." — Romans 7:15-20
This was first published on my old blog back in 2011:
"All who worship images are put to shame, those who boast in idols — worship him, all you gods!"
Sometimes our house feels like an empty, dark shell on Sunday mornings. The husband's been at work since before the butt crack of dawn and the blinds are closed and there's a still chill in the air from the night's air conditioning …. so, waking alone and cold and to scare the spook away, I break the film with His Word — reading aloud — before shuffling through the house to let the light in and pour the coffee.
This morning, I flipped my bible open to Psalm 95 … read through Psalm 97 … and found my eyes returning to the verse I quoted above. Images. The physical form of an idol. The noun. How does the physical representation of a misplaced trust, hope and love translate to today?
I don't know. But I found myself thinking about how my faith has morphed from legalism to love over the years and then how sometimes my delight in how God is in all things beautiful and true leaves me enchanted with that beauty and that truth … but, ironically, distracted from He who embodies it … enables it … creates it … has intent for it (far beyond any scope or hope I could imagine).
The point: Sometimes I make idols of His blessings. I hold my hand out, watch the glitter fall into it, take a picture, write about it … and forget to look up and behold what I can't.
Just thinking. Love.