Ever been to the islands and experienced “island time”? It’s laid back, casual, relational … the exact opposite of our busy, scheduled, hyper productive daily lives here in the States.
I recently travelled to Jamaica for a second time and found myself struck by how stuck I was in the go-go-go mentality of my normal life. It took a couple of days for me to get on island time, but once I made the transition … well, my world completely changed.
"Is it crazy that I'm having separation anxiety when he leaves the house?"
That's the text I got last week from a very newly married friend. My response? "If you're crazy, then book me residence at the funny farm … 'cause I STILL get a little bit sad every time the Mr. leaves for work!"
And it's true. I miss him when we're apart. I still love sharing the couch with him as we wind down the day. I still feel like saying "I love you" doesn't even begin to cover the feelings. I can't explain the overwhelming urge I have to punch the people in the face who don't treat him like the incredible man that he is. I'm a little resentful of the events that require his time on our weekly designated day off together. Still. Sometimes in increasing measure.
I have a best friend that I know I can be real with … and, well, that's just the best thing EVER.
This guy is better than I could have imagined. He's more supportive than I can fathom. And he's so wonderfully talented and capable in all the ways I'm not. The point? This love thing? The partnership? The becoming one in Christ? It's bewildering and I'm blessed.
May my gratitude always glorify the One who got us together and by (and in) Whose grace we'll stay together and love one another and others well.
I slept in AGAIN today. While I did, the Mr. was up and prepping for his day — which, along with heading to do a shift at his THIRD job, included setting up a Valentine's Day floral surprise for me!
Dear Mr., you are unbelievably good at making me feel special and loved. I am blessed beyond measure to be the one that gets to do life with you. With love and prayers for many, many more years of being your "valentine" ... — Me
I've gotten really bad at blogging, haven't I? It's the lack of spare time. Or maybe it's the lack of productive use of limited spare time. Either way, I haven't been much of a writer these days.
The need to "get it all down on paper" has been less of an impulse. I'm not sure if it's because I'm busier, more mature or just not as easily moved. Maybe it's all of those reasons. Or none at all.
There's a mechanism in my brain I have been learning how to turn on and off. It's the one that opens a vortex to idealism and empathy and pervasive concern. It leads to a beautiful space, but it's the one that, if left open, would pull me into everyone else's stories so deeply that I would lose myself. I think it's a battle every Christian therapist has to wage — walking the line between care and crazy. To not be disturbed by the levels of depravity and despair filling client lives would make me less than human. But to let that disturbance overwhelm would be my ruin. So, I learn to leave it all in the office.
How? I learn the value of now — to sit in today … this hour … this moment. Yes, still making wise choices for tomorrow, but finding sanity and peace in an exploration of today. I remember that just like no theory offers a complete formula or explanation for pathology, personality or purpose, no pathology, personality or purpose should ever be considered definitive or fathomable. I remember I am not the Savior, that I cannot enact another's change or healing. I let go of thinking that I have any idea of what's best or good or right for anyone but myself … and I let go of the weight of responsibility such ignorant thinking once placed upon me.
As a result, my passion to write has withered slightly. There's a subtle ring of detachment around the rim of my interests and opinions. I guess as more people's stories flood my life, less people get to be party to the chapters of mine? I'm not sure. Like I said, it could be a phase brought on by a busy season of life … or not. I guess we'll see? Two weeks and counting 'til the end of the semester …
Love.
I submitted the following to A Beautiful Mess ... and they made it live on their blog space today. I'm blessed to have such a cool opportunity to share what's on my heart with a community that's all about authenticity and finding the beauty of God in who we are and what we do ... even in our chaos.
“Life is a runaway train you can’t wait to jump on …” — Sugarland
Graduating college, starting a new job, waiting for the doors to open so you can walk down that aisle, deciding to become parents…we’ve all been there—baggage in hand, standing on a metaphorical platform, excited and optimistic to board the vehicle bound for what’s next in life. Whether it’s because we’re sick of what was or we’ve got plans for what could be, there comes a point on our journey when we choose change.
But how often does “what’s next” turn out exactly as we envisioned it might? Rarely.
Take this past year, for instance. It’s been good, but honestly, sometimes it has sucked. For me, very little has turned out like I thought it might. At moments it’s all confused the hell out of me. Maybe even some of the heaven. There have been periods of epiphany and constant seasons of growth. I’ve started a freelance business. Become a therapist. Watched my relationships transform in the aftermath of many a move, marriage, death, birth and calendar entry. I’ve climbed into the skies to land in new places. Planted a garden. I’ve certainly grabbed hold of a lot of new and blessed, but I’ve let go of a lot, too … often in the same moment and circumstance.
Each of us travels through life with expectations—conscious and not—and not a one of us finds our every hope and dream met. Face it: unmet expectations fill our days.
What a depressing thought, right?
I read once that depression is always about loss. If that’s true, then we can expect that melancholy and despair often follow disappointment. However, I think that’s okay. Truth be told, we adults can’t take hold of something new without first letting something go. We don’t grow without discomfort. Beauty emerges out of a grieving process. Hope is often fashioned in the ruins. Seen through tears. It’s a pinhole of light noticed only because we stand in the dark, consumed with a confusing and palatable grief.
I’ve grieved a lot this year — mourned friendships, career ambitions, social constructs, family loyalties and the pieces of myself that were tied to each and all. While grieving, in search of new hope and eager for “what’s next,” I have discovered more than I’d bargained for in myself and others. I have dissected my way of thinking and stumbled upon answers to questions I never knew to ask. In the process, I have discovered and destroyed my limits. I have learned to love sitting still. But, I have also regularly set out to spin, smiling, silly, taking life in and winding up dizzy. And as I have twirled, I have caught glimpses of God working things out His way. Sometimes that has slowed me down, though, more often than not, it has spurned me onward. I have found hope — beauty — in the uncertain, amongst my fears and because of disappointment.
For most of us, the much anticipated holiday season usually becomes a couple of months of high stress and self-reflection. As a result, we embrace the coming of a new year, making resolutions and letting ourselves dream again. We set out in hopes of controlling at least parts of the journey we’re about to embark upon. I think that’s admirable, important, wise, even. But the self-discipline and perspective needed to succeed at our resolve is a gift from God. Whether we like it or not, He’s all over the details of our lives. Yesterday, today, and tomorrow.
So, my point? Expect to succeed at the good things you’re tackling, but also, expect the unexpected. Be okay with unmet expectations. Trust the Truth to be revealed in the turmoil. Learn how to love it when your train seems to derail … begin by taking a second to enjoy the scenery you may have otherwise completely bypassed.
While the reality of being a new mom is a couple years away for me (or never!), it's the new normal for a lot of my girlfriends. I marvel at and cherish the wisdom they embody as they've grown into their new role of being a momma.
One of those wise friends recently jotted down some of her thoughts and she's sharing them here!
I've been able to think a lot these last few months. With a new life to take care of, your perspective changes on a lot of fronts. Things that were once not important still aren't, while other things are seemingly more important than you ever thought should be.
Even before I became a mother, I had this perspective on raising kids. I will be the best mother I absolutely, positively can be to them. But my children will not become more important than my relationship with God or my husband. I've seen and heard the same story time and time again — husband and wife have a family, wife devotes her whole life to raising kids, they become her world, kids grow up and leave them with an empty house and now they're back living with someone they've each forgotten to know over the last 18+ years.
There's a danger in letting your relationship with God slip away. Quiet time seems hard to come by. Sleep is hard to come by. Your job (both being a mother or being employed) takes more time and energy away. But there's time. There's time for church. There's time to read your Bible for 5 minutes if that's all you have for the day. There's time to say a quick prayer. There's time for you not to forget Whose you are. Recently, I read this devotional thought and it seemed to drive home the point:
“My identity is not found in being a mother, but in being a daughter of the King – and that relationship will never change. God never needs to pull away from me to become independent, rather He prefers that I become more dependent.”
I need to take matters into my own hands and demand time with God. Just like my son needs me to survive, God wants me and I need Him. I need to be more dependent on Him. I need to know that God will remember what I look like when I get into Heaven. I need to know that He won't say, "I know you, but I haven't heard from you in a while."
There's also a danger in letting your husband slip away. Nights at home are now filled with screaming kids, baths, bedtime stories and cleanup. It's easy to call it a night once your kids are in bed and succumb to the comfort of your bed for an extra hour of sleep. But you need your husband and he needs you. You need to talk and converse like adults. Have sex. The connection that once brought children should not be forgotten. You need to go out on dates. Woo each other again just like when you first met.
My parents have always been a good example of this type of relationship. Every Saturday night we had a babysitter and they would go out either by themselves or with other couples. They took vacations together without the kids. I remember thinking to myself, "They never take us out on dates. Why can't they spend that time with us?" Now, I get it. It wasn't about us kids. It was about them. Now, 40 years later, they're as happy as ever. Maybe even happier.
My last thought is this ... just because you have kids and a family doesn't mean that all of your dreams and aspirations are thrown by the wayside. They don't have to be forgotten about while you raise your family. It all should happen simultaneously. Glennon, from Momastery, says,
“But I do not believe in sacrificing all my dreams for my kids. If every generation does that, than who ever actually gets to follow her dreams? Nobody, except for the one who decodes the system and decides that to stay childless is the only way to stay true to herself. No, Craig and I follow our dreams and then we provide everything our kids need to adjust, and they do. I hope from this they learn that parenthood does not mean martyrdom, necessarily.”
Following your dreams and making them happen is scary and rewarding. Your kids may not understand it now, but when they're older they will. They'll know that their parents loved them wholeheartedly. They'll also know that their Mom (and Dad) kicked butt at living life and didn't let a couple of kids stand in her way.
So there you have it. Thoughts from a new mom. (I'm just impressed I was able to coherently write a paragraph!)
I admit that one of my fears about being a mom stems from that oft-used phrase: "a baby changes everything." After all, there are things I don't want to change! I don't want to lose what I have with the Mr. — our talks and time and closeness. I don't want to lose the focus I have on God. I don't want to lose ME in the process of being a mom. Can you relate? Had success or failures? Tips? Chime in!
My family's hit the same vacation spot for 30 years.
Back in my angst-ridden teen years, I sometimes wished that we'd go elsewhere. I'd flip through RCI catalogs and wish we'd take advantage of the membership perks and trade for "exotic" and "adventurous" vacations in places like Colorado or Key West or Maine. But, every year, April or June, we'd be back at the beach.
An hour and a half from home — same pool, same couch, same restaurants, different year.
Looking back on it now, I am in love with the consistency … in love with the bond and the traditions it spawned. Like a birthday or anniversary, it's a worn groove in my mind, a trigger for reflection and memory — each week a notable notch on my personal timeline...
A year ago today, I got married. It's still surreal. Me? Married? How? And to him? How'd I get this lucky? So blessed? Unmerited favor, certainly. Grace. It seems apt that our first year anniversary would fall on Easter … our joy is somehow more poignant, our covenant … clearer … in light of our God's resurrection.
In Greg, I recognize a different dimension of God's love … one I couldn't have known previously. This guy gets me and loves me despite. He is the perfect man for me — providing in ways and through means I didn't even know I needed or existed. This glimpse of God in man, my man? It's so good. He's so good. And today, grateful for a year with the guy He gave me, all I want to do is praise Him … and pray … pray for His continued guidance, power and grace upon our marriage … pray to live generous lives of service and love … pray for wisdom to love better … pray for strength to beat back temptation … to recognize the evil one and flee … pray for patience and kindness … selflessness and humility … pray for the kind of love and union that points back to Him, again and again and again.
Happy Easter, my friends! Love.
When I was in 4th grade, my music teacher proposed we and the fifth grade deliver a musical presentation to the community. I remember it featured popular music from "around the world." Everything was catchy. Production quality was high. (Ha). A few of my guy classmates got to dress up in black suits and skinny ties and sing "She Loves You;" another couple of kids got to dress up as sheep while the skinniest boy in class wore lederhosen and yodeled for a solid three minutes ...
What I remember most is that I, too, had a solo. I recall the less than awesome costume I got to wear: a blue skirt and white t-shirt emblazoned with the title of the song I was to wail: "Up, Up and Away.". However, what stands out in my memory is just how BAD I was when it was my turn to shine. I sucked. MAJOR performance anxiety. Waaayyy off pitch.
Eh, whatcha gonna do? (To this day, this is why you cannot get me to sing like I'm serious, in public, ever). But I did it.
On that note, here's to doing something that scares you ... to just going for it ... and finding adventure and story in the process.
today's inspiration:
At my baby brother's suggestion, my husband and I made a run to the Redbox this evening and came home with Midnight in Paris. It's a fantastic tale of one man's (played by Owen Wilson) search to find his perfect — his place of contentment and confident creativity. As the title indicates, the story takes place in Paris … but not just today's … but yesterday's (the 1920's and 1890's to be precise), as well. Ironically, the protagonist's rose-colored view of life in the "city of lights" places him in a time populated by literary and artistic figures that found fame in rebelling against such romanticism.
As our protagonist moves forward in time by moving backward in it, we meet Hemingway, Picasso, Fitzgerald, Stein, Dali, Eliot, Matisse, Barnes … expatriates and/or key figures of that "Lost Generation" we lit majors know so well as a critical part of creative history. I love that ... just as I also loved the film's subtle commentary on humanity's struggle to be present and in love with our current reality.
Frankly, the movie had pockets of genius and then moments of disappointing superficiality. An insubstantial performance by Rachel McAdams would have been harder to overlook if I wasn't such an Owen Wilson fan. But I'm no film critic … all I can tell you is whether or not I connected with the meat and beat of a story. As for me and Midnight in Paris? We're tight.
However, what I find even more endearing about this movie than the movie itself is that my brother knew I'd like it. He saw it and told me it had "[me] written all over it." A movie made him think of me?! That's special. Made even more so by the film itself ...
Toward the end of the movie, Wilson's character runs into a girl from a Paris street market. He'd purchased a Cole Porter album from her just days earlier. When they meet, randomly, at midnight in Paris (duh!), she tells him she was thinking about him the other day, crediting another Cole Porter album finding its way to her shop. Needless to say, Wilson's character is warmed by her memory and knowledge of something unique about him. I get that.
That's how it felt to sit at the end of a movie knowing my brother knows me well enough to know I'd like it so well. I'm warmed. Still sicky sickerson … but warmed.
The point? Let someone special know you're thinking about THEM today ... and when possible, give 'em a good reason.
Love.
---
P.S. Definitely adding Paris to the short list of the bucket list!
A quick wrap up on our Costa Rican adventure, including a few lessons learned on one of the best trips ever ...
Back in San Jose, we grabbed a taxi from the bus stop to take us to our hotel —Gran Hotel de Costa Rica. It's old (historic) and pretty much dead central to downtown. It's decent, but maybe three-star by our standards. We checked in and then wandered down the road to El Patio for dinner (pizza and black bean soup - all pretty tasty).
The trip was AWESOME! Pictures are up on Flickr. And just in case you're interested or want to follow our lead, here is the first installment of a three-part rundown
Is self-esteem superficial? And thus, in a faith that puts others at the forefront, somehow wrong to place value upon?
Apparently, my question represents a battle that rages, especially within the christian counseling community. Many view low self-esteem as nothing more than an indicator of pathology, ignorable in the grand design of things or rightable with enough effort and enhanced cognitive processes (think CBT). However, many (myself included) sense that self-esteem (and its companion, self-awareness) is a (and sometimes THE) core issue in many a person's presenting pathology. For us, an improvement in self-esteem and one's perception regarding it would then be considered a necessary focus and force in any treatment plan (think Carl Rogers) …
Why? Because self-esteem is anything but superficial. It's valid. Like sex, it's core to identity (try not to think Freud). Our genuine and dis-ingenuine self are wrapped up within it … and there lies the tension that began in Genesis and continues today. Apart from God, we are not capable of full self-knowledge or self-revelation — after all, they are His dominion. Apart from God, born into sin, we sense voids within ourselves … and, yet designed for perfection, we subconsciously endeavor to find our's by filling that space. And in the attempts to fill, we lose authenticity in the inevitable dissatisfaction. And all our striving (and the impact of others') derails a proper perception of self. And so it goes: try, fail, try, fail …
Terrified of the void inside, we eventually become terrified of that which we tried to fill it with and then we grow hypersensitive to that filler, threatened by it, perhaps even overly passionate against it.
There is a direct relationship between authenticity and self-esteem. A direct relationship between a healthy self-esteem and an abundant life in Christ.
But, like I said, we're scared of the void. We keep busy to avoid acknowledging its existence, its genesis, its demands. We like being distracted from it. We can't take the time to acquaint ourselves with ourselves so that we can enjoy be ourselves …
But what if we did? What if we took the time. To live a FULL life instead of a half-life?
What if an authority figure asked you to take two hours this weekend to sit, alone, without your standard tech, in silence, with yourself? Would you do it?
Because your junk is going to come up. That void is going to show up. Even "worse"? The stuff you're using to fill the void? Yea, you'll have to face it. Whether it's co-dependency, food, sex, alcohol, church, pets, work, a full calendar, exercise … it'll beckon you during that period of solitude and silence.
I mean, I think it will.
But don't you think the possibility of a fuller life is worth the finding out?
Sometimes I can't hug him tight enough. Every time I try to tell him how I feel, all I've got is "I love you." Words don't suffice. I love him being around. He knows me and loves me so well despite. I feel special, thought of, honored, safe, desired and appreciated. To that point and all of them: I don't deserve this incredible, sweet, dynamic man … but I am so grateful he's who God had for me.
Jesus, may our love for each other continue to grow and protect and overflow in power into the lives of others. Please don't let us waste this gift on ourselves. Amen.
