Enough

Today I've decided that everything that I have and all that I am is enough.  Not "almost enough" or "enough because I've ignored the desires of my heart so I'm numb" but rather "fully, feelingly, embracing reality with all it's imperfections"... enough.

Every day it seems that I start off behind.  I wake up and think "I didn't get enough sleep."  Before I know it, there isn't enough time to get ready, and after breakfast is over, I'm counting down ways to force myself to eat a salad because my breakfast wasn't healthy enough.  By lunchtime, I've already created a large deficit in my sense of being and I'm barely a third of the way through my day.

This mindset of scarcity is common in American society, when we dream "big" and "climb the ladder" up toward our ideas of success.  We are practically groomed into it: with grades and extra credit and scholars awards and always the next level of acknowledgement taunting us, even from grade school.  And yet, when I live as if there is always more to be attained, I never achieve that sense of "I've made it"-- which is what the higher levels of accomplishment so slyly promises me while I'm striving to get there.  The only way my life will be enough is if I consciously choose to accept it as such.  There is always someone higher on my "I want to be like that/have that" list.  The seeking of such an illusive place where I've 'arrived' is a merry-go-round that will keep spinning until I realize that I'm moving in a circle and the only way to achieve some inner peace is to jump off the ride and re-group.

One of my themes this month is gratitude.  I truly believe that being grateful is a practice-- much like exercising a muscle or holding my tongue when angry.  It's an exercise that is born in the ordinary -- while practicing mindfulness and recognizing the gifts that are present in the simplicity of life.

"Time stands still in moments that look suspiciously like ordinary life." ~ Brian Andreas

When I think back to the moments of greatest impact that I shared with my late father, it was the smallest of events that remain stenciled into my memory: a bedtime story, a shared car ride while singing to music...even a simple look ("the look" that he always gave us).  These are the things that defined my relationship with my dad.  Since humans are designed for connection, it's the repetition of mundane, ordinary moments that spark life and love into relationships.  It's these things-- not the expensive family trip to Hawaii (frankly, we were at each other's throats half the time!)-- that are stored in my memory as the tiny connectors.  Over time, these moments weaved themselves into a deep and trusting relationship.  And the frequency of these ordinary, every day moments?  I have found that there is always enough of them-- if I choose to slow down and acknowledge what is right in front of me.

Something to think about:  If you lost everything today and got it back tomorrow, tomorrow would be the happiest day of your life.  What prevents you from being thankful for those things today?

How necessary is vulnerability?

Humans desire connection.  To truly connect with another individual, we must allow ourselves to be vulnerable.  To truly be vulnerable, we must be authentic.  When we operate authentically, we gain a sense of belonging.  We cannot feel that sense of belonging if we are simply seeking to "fit in" (living in a way that is more concerned with being a part of something than being who we really are).  

In high school and at the beginning of college, I was an expert at "fitting in".  Being sensitive to the needs of others around me allowed me to cater my attitudes, behaviors and, frighteningly enough, eventually my thoughts into whatever way would benefit the relationships around me and allow me to feel as if I "fit in". The problem was that I never truly felt accepted and did not feel true belonging, because belonging is a byproduct of being accepted for who you truly are-- when you're honest about your thoughts, feelings, emotions, joys and fears.  

For the first year or two after I accepted Christ, I became a part of a Christian sub-culture that told me exactly how to act and feel and respond.  Question?  Go to the Bible. Fear?  Go to the Bible.  There was a scripture for everything and I began to live in a robotic way, quoting scripture and monitoring my thoughts and feelings to what was "holy" and "sanctifying".  Now, I do fully believe that being holy and sanctified is a true gift; but the gift I was receiving was tainted by my sub-conscious expectation that if I didn't do it the "right" way, I wouldn't truly be accepted.  How far from true grace. 

We've all experienced it.  The disapproving glance.  The careful wording of a thought or emotion to prevent anyone from misinterpreting it and reading into it (which, frankly, is impossible because that standard of perfectionism is always going to be based on other people's perceptions-- perceptions that change daily and even hourly).  How exhausting to live under such (sometimes self-imposed) scrutiny. 

Over the past 6-7 years,  I've truly come to understand my identity in Christ AND as a person (which are inextricably connected for me). I've started to practice the art of vulnerability in a more risky way.  The last few days have been a clear example of how God (and my community) has met me in this place and offered the freedom to just be.

A few nights ago I was on the phone sharing a story with one of my closest friends.  My mom found a cd that an old neighbor/ friend made for me.  When I saw the handwritten note on the cd cover, I remembered a moment with this friend that brought up deep emotion within me.  We were sitting in my room and we had just finished praying.  He looked at me for a moment then said, "I love the way you say Jesus' name.  It's as if I can tell how much you love Him just by hearing you say his name."  

It was a beautiful reminder of the deep and intimate love relationship I had with my Savior.  But as I remembered his words this time around, all I could feel was a deep sadness.

  "I feel as if we are like an old married couple now," I said to my friend on the other end of the line. "I know I love Him, but it seems as if I'm not as in love with Him anymore."  

We talked for awhile and said our goodnights and Daniel slowly entered the room.  He was visibly shaken up.  "I heard you on the phone," he slowly said, in a low voice. "Who were you talking to?" he asked.

"Julie," (my friend's name) I said, wondering why he seemed so upset.  And then it hit me.  He thought I was talking about HIM.  He thought I was telling my best friend about my dwindling romance with him!  I asked him if this is what he thought and he immediately enveloped me in a hug and replied, "Yes, it really worried me".   

It wasn't a good thing either way, whether I was talking about my husband or my Savior, but as we talked I posed the question, "I wonder what Jesus thinks about what just happened?  I wonder what His thoughts are about this exchange?"  

"He probably feels the same way I did," Daniel whispered.  "He's probably hurt." 

And then it hit me.  Jesus feels hurt over strained relationships which means Jesus allows Himself to be vulnerable.  My vulnerability to my friend (and Daniel's sharp overhearing ears :)) allowed me to see a physical representation of Jesus' love and care for me in my husband's response, which in turn deepened my relationship with my Savior (and my husband)--which was the very thing I had been hoping and praying for over the past few days. Plus I was able to assure my husband that I am completely IN love with him. :) 

If being vulnerable with one other person is a cool glass of water,  practicing vulnerability in community is a waterfall.  Today at church, we had a time for prayer requests.  Although we go to a small church, it can seem daunting because during prayer requests, individuals stand up where they are sitting (yes, in front of the whole church) and share their request.  It's authenticity and vulnerability at it's riskiest (and best).  Today, I took my scared and shaking self, and slowly stood up to share the pain in my heart about feeling as if my relationship with Jesus was becoming more stagnant than dynamic.  "I know He's still pursuing me," I said. "But I just need prayers for the grace to pursue Him in the way my heart desires."  

I sat down (still shaking, mind you), and a friend turned around and whispered, "great prayer."  After church, a couple of people came up to me and mentioned that they had the same exact prayer request, and it was as if they wanted to raise their hand and "second" what I just said.  

I took the risk to be vulnerable, and I was met with acceptance.  I stepped out of my comfort zone and spoke from my heart, and I was received with a sense of true belonging.  

If wisdom leads you to share, vulnerability is always worth it.  If it doesn't turn out well, it's a chance to grow in your true sense of self, regardless of how others may respond.  If it's met with love and encouragement, it's an opportunity to feel connected.  So even if you're shaking, step out.  You never know who may meet you on the ledge to join you in the experience.



** A beautiful song about God meeting us where we're at right now: Times

What happens when God seems absent? Lessons from "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close" Part 2

Warning: If you haven't seen the movie yet, I'd recommend going out to see it now (hey! It's Saturday- time for a break from life and some time at the theater).  The following post contains "spoilers" from the movie so if you're planning on watching it but haven't yet, please hold off on reading the post.

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It's the end of the movie.  The theater is tense.  How could it not be with so many emotionally charged themes and scenes that have been drawing us into Oskar's world for the past 2 hours?  As I watched him journey through many towns and meet various people while searching for the lock to the key his father left behind, I too, began to hope he would find a magnificent safety deposit box that had books filled with letters from his father or large sums of money or secrets passed down through generations.  But in this moment, when he finds out where the key belongs, all those hopes were dropped as I realized that for Oskar, this season in his life wasn't going to lead him to a final answer, but rather provide him with a journey that would build his relationship with his mother, his grandfather and within himself.  The journey was the destination in this movie.

Throughout the movie, as Oskar travelled the city by himself, I kept wondering about his mother.  My judgement would rise as he would run out the door with his map and bookbag, a young 10-11 year old braving the city streets of New York.  His mother was portrayed as too weak to chaperone him.  And yet, at the end of the movie, I was given a picture of true parenting as Oskar's mother (played by Sandra Bullock), sat down with her son and told him that she had been following his journey all along.   She told dozens of stories of how she found his maps and visited each location before he did; telling the family that her son would be coming to see if they knew anything about his key, asking the families to take good care of him and help him in this exploration as much as possible.

"How did you know, Mom?" Oskar asks.  "How did you know what I was doing?"

"Well, I just tried to think like you," she replied.  Oskar was incredulous.  All this time, he thought he was embarking on the journey of a lifetime alone and here was his mother, this person he thought was too weak to understand anything, preparing the way for him to explore exactly what he needed to explore in order to grieve his loss and confusion.  Although her way of doing things was completely different than his, she entered into his way of being to connect and protect him in a way that only a parent can do.  He wouldn't have let her into his journey if he knew that she was helping clear the way; he had to believe he was doing it alone.  He didn't trust her enough at that point in time.  And yet, after the fact, when he returned without the result he had planned, she gently walked him through the entire process of how he hadn't been alone the entire time.  They reminisced on the people they met, the lessons Oskar learned and how the process of searching ultimately helped him grieve and grow.

What a beautiful picture of God in our lives.  How many times do you think you are alone in a situation?  How many times does it appear that God is just too weak or doesn't care enough to: provide that job, heal that friend, renew that relationship?  And so we trudge forward, cognitively forcing ourselves to believe He is with us, yet deeply questioning His presence or provision all the while.

Personally, I am looking forward to sitting in Heaven and walking through my journey with my Creator. Seeing His presence weaved throughout my life will only strengthen our relationship.  For now, I know that I may not always understand the journey that I'm on~ life can be all together confusing at times.  But I do have the knowledge that I have a Heavenly Father who has gone before me to prepare every interaction I may have.  He knows my weak places.  He knows my stubbornness.  He knows my heart when I question Him and my trust level is low.  And yet He gives me the grace to obey Him in the way I know how.  I believe that, like Oskar, He knows I may try to figure some things out without Him.  And yet He's still in control even when I do not acknowledge Him to be.

Ultimately, my prayer is that God will continue to give me grace to obey Him better than I know how.  Living with this knowledge and prayer, I am reminded that it's His grace that allows me to obey Him even once.  I can study and pray and seek Him diligently, but there will always be some things I just don't understand.  Living in His grace turns our relationship from one of me striving to obey Him to a relationship where I allow Him to live and be through me.