When You’re Not As Vulnerable As You Think You Are

May 28, 2013 by 43 Comments

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We got to church early, knowing it would be a different Sunday.

Crowds were gathering in London from all over the world and H was warned that there might not be enough seats for everyone. He sat in an aisle seat and I placed my purse, camera, and coat on six chairs between us. Saving seats for the family of my best friend LuAnn, who just happened to be in England from Kansas the week we were scheduled to be there for a conference. We were checking off the proverbial bucket list; girlfriends worshipping together in a place we’d only dreamt about.

While we waited for their arrival, I became enthralled with watching people. The diversity they wore in their clothes, the cadence of accents representing places I’ve never been — it was like hearing a favorite forgotten melody, lost among the provincial white paint of my hometown. Dusty doors of my soul were creaking open when the voice of a teenager seated in front of me broke into my wandering thoughts.

“Are you having a good day,” he asked me holding a pastry in one hand, plastic cup in the other. He was still chewing when he turned around with the inquiry.

“Oh,” I said startled, “Yes, so far, I’m having a great day.”

He nodded and smiled, took a sip of his drink while small sleepy children were being herded into seats next to him by their au pair. “Are you here for the conference,” he asked.

I said yes and told him we’d been in England for more than a week already, visiting friends and seeing some new places.

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Through our brief exchange, I learned that he is the age of my son and recently moved to England from Austria. He likes his new school, is making friends and his family loves HTB so much they go to two services on Sunday. Then I met his mother who seems just as genuine as her son.

At first, I found it curious that a teenage boy would strike up a conversation with a middle-aged woman wearing a faraway look. Perhaps he wanted to meet an American I thought smugly.  Or maybe he has an ulterior motive, like money. But he kept asking me questions. And I kept thinking that my son would rather eat worms than talk to strangers. He’s an introvert.

It turns out that a teenager can be genuinely interested in conversation with someone a few generations older without motive. So why is that so hard to believe?

Probably because I don’t do that. I don’t talk to people I don’t know at church that way and I don’t expect it from my kids.  Because that means being vulnerable with the possibility of rejection. And I don’t go to church to be uncomfortable.

Ouch.

Sometimes it takes travelling across the world, seated among strangers to realize you aren’t as vulnerable as you think you are. Because speaking the truth and being vulnerable are not the same thing. And He loves me (and you) enough to reveal the difference.

Our willingness to own and engage with our vulnerability determines the depth of our courage and the clarity of our purpose; the level to which we protect ourselves from being vulnerable is a measure of our fear and disconnection. ~Brene Brown, Daring Greatly

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Linking with Laura, Jennifer, Jen, Heather, and Emily.

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On How to Overcome Futility and Wishful Thinking

November 14, 2012 by 43 Comments

I remember her eyes, pools of sorrow glistening in the shadow of headlights pulling away from the church. We stood on the sidewalk splitting acorns open under the weight of our pain. She asks me what we are going to do now that the church changed their mind.

I bend over; wrap my arms around the neighbor whose relatives laid footprints where we stand, every generation since the 1700’s. She says the history can’t hold her there any longer.

And I’m a nomad, a harlot of homes stretching across states of acorn ditches.  I don’t know much about that history and I don’t have answers. But I have tea and consolation, so I extend my hand and pull up a fallen sheep with an invitation.

A few days later I lean my back into the wooden panels of a wall, join a hundred voices singing we lay our crowns at the feet of Jesus. And she is there, all crown of wisdom, arms outstretched, voice lifted to the heavens in adoration with a smile through the chorus. And afterward, when I remind her about the tea, she says she has a car full of friends to take home and a full schedule, and could we talk about it later.

And I’m hand over mouth taken back by joy.

Acceptance, it’s the train pushing grace forward through the steam of futility.

I’ve stood on the bank of wishing things were different. Awakened to futility standing over my bed, arms outstretched ready to take me on a tour through every room in the house of my mind.

And he faithfully woos me back to acceptance and courage through the voices of friends and trees flaming change.

And I wonder, was Reinhold Niebuhr standing under a cascade of falling leaves when he wrote the serenity prayer?

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

The courage to change the things I can,

And the wisdom to know the difference.

Because the leaves don’t ask to change color, for courage to let go of the branch, it is what they are created to do. To change.  Like the way we are made to worship Him. And be changed by it.

Linking with Jennifer, Duane, WLWW, Emily, Life Unmasked.

For six weeks, we’ll be exploring the question, “How do we walk out our faith in the midst of pain, suffering, disappointment, and loneliness,” with a book club discussion on Thursdays about Leaving Church by Barbara Brown Taylor. Join the conversation tomorrow in the comments and at Redemptions Beauty Book Club. Start here for more information.

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Surrender

November 10, 2012 by 22 Comments

Thy saints are comforted, I know,

And love Thy house of prayer;

I therefore go where others go,

But find no comfort there.

Oh make this heart rejoice, or ache;

Decide this doubt for me;

And if it be not broken, break,

And heal it, if it be.

~WILLIAM COWPER (English, 1731-1800)

As you walk into the weekend, may He hale a cab for you before you give up, lay crumbs of certainty when you lose your way, embrace you with a warm hug from a fellow pilgrim. And when the sign creaks, swinging in the chilly howl of night air, may the sound be a reminder that he is with you. He is faithful. Always.

Thanking God for each of you. Welcome to the Weekend Friends!

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Leaving Church

November 8, 2012 by 28 Comments

For the next six weeks, we’ll be exploring the question, “How do we walk out our faith in the midst of pain, suffering, disappointment, and loneliness,” with a book club discussion on Thursdays about Leaving Church by Barbara Brown Taylor. We’re starting today with the Introduction and Chapter 1. Join the conversation in the comments and on the closed Facebook page at Redemptions Beauty Book Club if you aren’t comfortable with sharing thoughts here. (And you can join at both places.)

I voted twice this week. Once on Monday. Once on Tuesday. Monday’s vote had nothing to do with a political election but the impact was greater for me.

My church took a vote and the outcome divided the people. I left my church the same day I started this new series. The irony is not lost on me.

When I was a child, I had two recurring dreams. In one of them, I am seated next to my mother who is driving the car. I look at her once and she is there. A second time and she vanishes, leaving me alone to drive a car as an adolescent. In the other dream, my mother and father swing me by my arms and legs in the backyard of my grandparent’s home, throw me up in the air, and I never come back down.

My parents divorced when I was three. My father remarried shortly after, while my mother raised me as a single parent, struggling with alcoholism and financial instability. Fear of abandonment plagued much of my life.

And that decision the church made on Monday, its why going to church lately feels like returning to my unstable childhood. It feels personal, even though I know it isn’t, just like my parents divorce.

Early memories of church sit between my grandparents on wooden pews inhaling the smell of the Old English my grandmother and I wiped on them with dust clothes the day before. At four-thirty mass on Saturday, the priest stands on the red carpet where my grandmother pushed vacuum tracks. Late afternoon sun pours through the stain glass windows captivating me, just like watching people filter into lines for communion.

And when my grandparents couldn’t drive two hours to pick me up to sleep over on the weekend, I climbed on the Baptist church bus with my friends. I wanted to go to church. Jesus was the only stable thing in my life. I counted on him every day to save me. I still do.

I don’t go to church because it is the right thing, the good thing, the social thing, or because I am a pastor’s wife. I go because I need to be in His presence, feel His peace, commune with the Saints, thank Him for breathe, hear His voice, remember my place is at His feet and hold on to the frayed end of hope.

Faith isn’t a destination, it’s a journey. Now I’m on the path that leads to the sheep tipped over and strewn on the hillsides of decision. Pulling them up one lamb at a time and following his footprints back home.

I’m more certain than ever, that He is with me.

Discussion

  1. In the Introduction Taylor says, “I guess you could say that my losses have been chiefly in the area of faith, and specifically in the area of being certain who God is, what God wants of me, and what it means to be Christian in a world where religion often seems to do more harm than good.” Can you relate to this? What parts of your faith do you find the most confidence? What parts have become less certain?
  2. How does the place where you live impact your faith?

For the Book Club

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Letting Go of Preconceived Notions About Being the Church

October 26, 2012 by 20 Comments

I accompanied my husband to preside at a wedding for a military chaplain in North Carolina shortly after I started blogging. The groom is an Anglican; the bride’s father, a Church of God minister. It was our first time to participate in a wedding performed by a priest in vestments standing next to a pastor wearing a suit. But that wasn’t the most unusual thing about the wedding for me.

It was the email I received later from the wedding planner:

“Who would have thought that in our brief meeting at a late August wedding that my life would be changed by your words?  I eagerly look forward to your blog, as a parched flower soaks up rain.  The depth and transparency of your blog makes me ask questions I didn’t know were in me.”

I didn’t know she was reading. We’d only met for a few brief moments over the placement of wedding flowers and attendants.

Her email, it was the first of many supernatural ways God began to draw me to people through blogging and social networking. A residual gift of writing I didn’t expect.

A few weeks ago, someone I don’t know *liked* my writer page on Facebook. I noticed we had one friend in common who isn’t a blogger. So I messaged her with a note of thanks for the follow. She responded by saying that she found my blog through the ticker feed on Facebook, when she saw our mutual friend *like* something I’d posted on my Writer page.

I’ve asked people to link their stories here on the theme of Letting Go on Friday in the comments each week throughout the 31 Days series. She encouraged her blogging partner to share her story. And this is what happened:

“When she wrote a post on our blog last night on letting go, I encouraged her to share it in your comments today. You having shared it the way you have on Facebook today, not only saw us have a spike on our blog stats but you have provided encouragement to my best friend who has had one of the hardest weeks she has been through in a long time.”

She went on to say how she was letting go of something she had not fully recognized until following the series.

I’ve experienced a few weeks of excessive “God-incidences.” Coming home from prayer walks to read comments on stories that were almost verbatim to the words I heard God speak to my heart moments before. Friends leaving comments on Facebook using particular word phrases of encouragement, identical to  emails and messages from people who don’t know each other.

Some people equate being the church as a mid-week potluck and sermon, gathering in a home to watch a video and talk about it, or making sandwiches for a homeless shelter. But I’m wondering if meeting in the living rooms and altars of our words on social networking isn’t exactly what being missional looks like in the 21st century.

What do you think?

God used a few posts around the web to speak to me on the theme of letting go and settling into who I am. I hope they speak to you too:

Letting Go vs. Holding On: Are You Packing Too Light? by Allison Vesterfelt at Prodigal Magazine

Timeline by Tara Pohlkotte at Pohlkotte Press

You Can Get Past Your Fear by Holley Gerth

Stop Waiting for God to Tell You What to Do With Your Life by Justin Zoradi at Storyline

This is #26 in the series 31 Days of Letting Go. You can read the collective here. If you are a writer, I invite you to link up any post you’ve written on the theme of letting go today in the comments. Subscribe to receive the series in your inbox or feed by adding your address in the side bar under Follow Redemptions Beauty.

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Chili, Church Talk, and Choosing to Let Go of Being Understood

October 17, 2012 by 65 Comments

I hold my bible and notebook pressed against my chest while we finish our conversation in the empty parking lot under the oak and pine. We are the last women to leave our small group, standing in the breeze a car length apart.

As we linger over the problems of parenting and the color of our hair, church talk slips in. Talking about church is taboo for me when people begin to compare their affiliations like a chili cook-off. Someone is going to get offended, no matter how great their recipe tastes. And Jesus loves chili.

The more we talk, I realize that I’ve been cooking chili for much longer but she isn’t really interested in my experience or palette. And you can’t give understanding where the heart is closed to receive it. 

After I crawl into my van, throw my purse and stack of books on the passenger seat, I lean into the steering wheel and wish I had windshield wipers for my eyes. Because even when you know you have something to add to the conversation that is light to the dim room of circumstance, you have to drive away. And go buy some chili powder from the nice lady at Food Lion.

Because Jesus didn’t die so I could be understood.

Have you ever had to let go of being understood?

Linking with Life: Unmasked, WLWW, Ann, Jennifer, Emily and Duane.

This is #17 in the series 31 Days of Letting Go. You can read the collective here. If you are a writer, I invite you to link up any post you’ve written on the theme of letting go in the comments here on Friday. Subscribe to receive the series in your inbox or feed by adding your address in the side bar under Follow Redemptions Beauty.

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When You Feel Like An Outsider

July 2, 2012 by 68 Comments

 

I brush my daughter’s arm with my hand while we’re sitting in church, our eyes meet and she knows what I’m saying without words. Stop playing with your hair, its distracting me from the sermon.

I’m hanging on to every word he says because I’m feeling desperate for a phrase, a word, a song, a paragraph, a comet to land and split the roof open. Anything to help me understand why I’m here. And just when I’m doing the self-talk, wondering if I should just let her be herself, braid her damp hair in church, the pastor says it.

God is silent in the bible more than He speaks. While He is silent, He is never still.

Journals stack full of conversations with Him on my desk. Whispers of hope and purpose and future all written down in black and blue. I’m re-reading them, quite a lot lately. Because when He speaks, it changes me.

But right now, it feels like I’m stuck among a five-lane pile-up during rush hour in Los Angeles. I’ve been sitting in the hot car so long; I forgot where I’m going. And He’s in one of his more familiar moods – not very talkative. It doesn’t mean He has nothing to say.

Then the pastor, he reminds me that God usually speaks when we least expect it.

Levi met Jesus in the line behind his desk spread out with ledgers, calculators and a moneybox. Instead of talking taxes, Jesus leans over, looks him in the eyes and says, “Follow Me.” And Levi, he did.  He folded up all his books in his brief case and left those people standing in line. (Luke 5:27)

God told Abraham to leave everything: the family home, all the ancestors parked on the lawn for a family cookout, the acres of land beyond them dotted cows and sheep. I can’t imagine that, but Abraham, he did it. (Genesis 12)

While Moses walks heavy with guilt about killing that Egyptian, God shows up in a burning bush and tells him to lead five million Israelites out of Egypt for forty years. And after Moses airs all his self-doubt, his reasons why he isn’t the guy for the job, he does it. (Exodus 3)

Because contact with God, it changes us, transforms us into the people we can’t imagine.

I know this isn’t exactly how each of these stories pans out, but my contemporary version, it helps wash away the despair and hopelessness that falls in the cracks sometimes and tries to grow there. I’m Moses with all the reasons why, desperate to see with binocular vision.

Following Jesus at a moment’s notice must’ve gone well for Levi. He threw Jesus a dinner party and included every sinner he knew on the guest list. And all those church people at the party? They had a fit about it. And Jesus’ response?

“Who needs a doctor: the healthy or the sick? I’m here inviting outsiders, not insiders—an invitation to a changed life, changed inside and out.” Luke 5:31, MSG

I’m reciting the benediction in a whisper through the lump in my throat now.  He’s here in the room for me, an outsider with a broken heart.  And just like the silent exchange between my daughter and me over her hair twirling, we don’t need words to know He speaks.

Whenever he chooses to talk to me, I’m saying yes.

Counting gifts today with Ann because I this changes me:

For the rumble of  thunder at sunset, a period to the day’s end 

A stack of finds at our local used bookstore, like excavating hidden treasure.

Laughing with my daughter while she makes bracelets and I take a writing break.

Five opportunities to guest post with wonderful friends.

Dinner at our favorite Mexican restaurant.

I’m taking a break from regular posting this week to take some time to listen and be with my family, to celebrate our independence.  Happy Fourth of July, I’m so grateful for each one of you.

 Linking with Hear it on Sunday, Use it on Monday, Playdates With God, Soli Deo Gloria, Just Write, WLWW, God Bumps, Life in Bloom, Thought Provoking Thursday

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