That Time That I Went to a Methodist Church on Ash Wednesday

Last night, I entered Zion Methodist Church in Grand Forks, ND, just in time to find a bathroom before the service started.  As a seasoned pastor’s wife, I knew exactly where to go to find an empty restroom – down the stairs and to the left is the typical floor plan.  I swiftly found the door, switched on the light, and closed the stall door in front of me.  I went through the motions that need not be described and started falling toward the toilet seat to take care of business and get back upstairs in time for the service.

Rewind a bit:  fall I did.

It turns out that I had found the nursery restroom, and the toilet seats are toddler height.  I know: those who have met me in person are thinking, “That’s perfect!”  However, let me just tell you all that, though the height may have been perfect, I was not prepared for it.

I had started my march toward that moment on Tuesday evening when I saw Facebook posts of our University of Mary students partying like it was 1987 for Mardi Gras – make your own masks and all. I have been awake odd hours this week, so I have had extra quiet and alone time this week to ruminate (isn’t that a great word) about how I planned to engage with Lent this year.

I grew up attending Mendenhall Presbyterian Church in East Grand Forks, MN.  After spending the first two and half years of my life being a world traveler, I spent the next 15 years in one spot.  When my mom and biological father (Air Force – hence, the world traveling) divorced, my mom had returned to the Red River Valley. As a single mom in the late 1970s, she was fortunate to find a church who welcomed her (and her organ-playing skills) with open arms.  When she married Rick in 1979, the church rejoiced with her.

I had no idea what liturgy was as a child.

In fact, it was not until I started to attend Grace Baptist Church that I realized some churches had a very similar liturgy (Lutherans, Methodists, Presbyterians) while others had their own vein of liturgy.  Those with their own veins of liturgy often attempt to claim they are without liturgy; however, once I realized what liturgy was, it became clear that all churches have it whether they realize it or not.

Liturgy essentially means the rhythm with which we do church.  Some people would call it a service schedule, but it is more than that.

Each part of the service has a theological significance, and the liturgy of a church can reveal its theology.  Even the location of the podium in relation to the altar/communion table reveals part of the specific church’s liturgy.  For example, in the Baptist tradition, the Word of God and its interpretation (the sermon) are central to the service. The podium from which the pastor preaches the sermon would typically be in the center of the stage.  In contrast, for a Catholic tradition, the Eucharist (communion) is central which is why the podium remains off to the side with the altar in the center.

Some traditions have written liturgies – there are books that describe the rhythm of the church service during different parts of the year.  More liturgical Baptists like the church my children (Baylor students) attend in Texas hand you the liturgy of the day as a packet on your way into the service.  This is quite a switch from the announcement-laden bulletin that we have at our Baptist church in Bismarck. It has empty blanks for the sermon notes, but that is all of the hint you get about the order of service.

In the Baptist tradition that I have lived for the past 26 years, the liturgical calendar has two basic high points – Easter and Christmas.  While we may talk of Advent and Lent, they are not emphasized.  What a contrast to the Catholic lives with whom we interact at the University of Mary.  We live within sight of the Cathedral of the Holy Spirit in Bismarck, and even the parking lot knows its liturgical calendar.

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday.  As the day approached, I had felt a pull toward the liturgical side of this day.  Had I grown up in the churches I have attended in later years, I might not even know what Ash Wednesday was.

If I had been in Bismarck this week, I could have attended the large mass on campus.  I read somewhere that Ash Wednesday is the second most highly attended mass in the Catholic tradition.

UMary students leave their backpacks in the hallway during mass.

I consulted my Facebook friends who live in Grand Forks as to time and information about their Ash Wednesday services but ultimately had to make a decision based on the nicest website.  I guess that is what people who work for online high schools do – choose your life based on what people say they are about.

As I walked to my car after the service, I started to rate it in my mind.  After a few critical moments, I had to remind myself that Ash Wednesday has little to do with the church I attend and much more to do with God whom I went to worship and His impact in my life.  The point was not for the church to create some moving experience through the service.  Instead, the stillness, the lack of glitz, and the near somber attitude of those leading was liturgy.

Lent is not about entertaining me.  Rather, lent is about preparing my mind and heart to remember that all of this world’s sinfulness was placed on the body of a man who was also God, who would suffer in mysterious ways for that sin, and who brings redemption to us because of His conquering resurrection.

As the pastor described that he had prepared the ashes for last evening by burning the palm branches used in last year’s Palm Sunday service, I was moved.  As another pastor read Psalm 51 aloud, I was moved.  As the small group who had gathered to worship together sang songs that directed our minds to the saving work that Christ did on the cross, I was moved.

Being moved did not come from anything that they did but rather what I did in obedience to worship, remember, and consider.

It turned out that my junior math teacher attended the same service with her husband.  We sat together, sang together, went up for our ashes together, and connected briefly afterwards.  As I drove away from the church service, I thought again at the unity we have with others who believe in the uniqueness of Christ.

Because of that unity, I could walk into almost any church in almost any town in almost any country around the world and worship.  The world will know God’s love through Christ when we come together and worship in love.

SuperBowl, Commercials, #tweetstorms, and Freedom

Oh, my.

Sometimes, I know I should look the other way, not say anything, and go on with my life.  However, other times I feel like I just have to say something.  This is probably one  of those times that several readers will fall on either side of the fence and think that I should have done one or the other.  My guess is that we will all have opinions.

And that is the truth, isn’t it? We all have opinions.

To be clear: the SuperBowl is one of my favorite holidays.  I prefer it over Valentine’s Day and Halloween because at Super Bowl parties I get to eat good stuff (like chocolate fondue) and I don’t have to dress up like a clown.  I love how it can pull different groups of people together in a competitive spirit.  And I like watching people watch the game. I learn so much.

Of course, the commercials rarely disappoint.

I love what Doritos has done for the past several years with the “Crash the SuperBowl” contest.  All of the Doritos’ commercials shown during Super Bowl spots were originally part of a contest for amateurs to earn their way into a professional commercial spot. Viewers vote on their favorites, and the prizes are amazing.

Last year’s winner was super funny.  Click here to watch it again.

When I saw one of this year’s ads – the one where the dad ate Doritos during an ultrasound – I laughed out loud.  Seriously.  Super cute.  Did you read that? I said, “Super cute.”

All day yesterday, though, I read tweet after tweet and more tweets responding to those first tweets about how the commercial was controversial.

Excuse me? Is this the same commercial I saw?  I am completely baffled by all sides of the controversy.  This was an advertisement, people – a well-developed, entertaining advertisement.  The fact that the wife/mom was annoyed at the crunching sound of Doritos during an ultrasound was hysterical – and almost any woman I know would love for the baby to have that kind of motivation to prompt a quick delivery.

Tomorrow is my son’s 19th birthday (I can’t believe he is that old!).  I found out that I was pregnant with him well into my pregnancy and had to have an ultrasound to determine when he was due.  A year before, I had an ultrasound to check on his sweet older sister.

When I have an ultrasound of an organ, the tech is looking at that organ, right?

When I have an ultrasound of what is growing inside of my uterus, the tech is looking at a baby…albeit one that is not ready to live outside of me at 20 weeks gestation.  This does not have to be a loaded term, and I am so confused as to why it became a #tweetstorm.

I drove for several hours yesterday and watched this play out on Twitter at my various stops along the way.  The only thing that makes any sense to me at all is that agreeing that “the thing on the ultrasound screen” is a baby gives name to “the thing” that some want to be able end its growth – abortion.

Here is the thing: we get upset when we are pushed into a corner.  Right now, all sides of all debates in the political, social, religious, intellectual, etc., arenas are pushing each other into corners because no one is listening to each other.  So – we get upset, we get used to being upset, and then we just start conversations already upset.

And we are not listening…

You say “cells” – I say “baby” – “cells” – “baby” – “cells” – “baby”!

“We’ve got spirit, yes, we do – we’ve got spirit, how about you?”

…we are at a pep rally, and we don’t even like the sport!

Seriously, none of us want to be wrong.  None of us want to drop the ball or be the quarterback who gets sacked.  And we certainly don’t want to lose the game and then have to sit through a press conference just to have the world pick that apart later.  Come on – give the guy a break…he lost a Super Bowl game, and you want him to do a press conference?

I digressed…sorry – that is another post.  The truth is that often our rhetoric comes from a position of being cornered.

None of us wants to be faced with the decision of a pregnancy that puts us in an impossible situation.

None of us wants to be the parents of the girl who has an abortion because she thought we would be angry – or the parents of the boy whose girlfriend has an abortion because he thought we would be angry.

We don’t want these things, yet we play the game as if it were our game to play.  We go out on the field, we line up on the line of scrimmage, and we hope that the other team fumbles so that we can grab the ball, make the play, and dance the victory dance.

All the while, there are real people living real life, making real decisions, and struggling through it all.

We vote for the politician who claims to support our stance on the issue, and then we realize that the Supreme Court holds the cards anyway.  We protest, picket, and plead – each “team” chanting their cheers, slogans, and angles.

Rarely do we listen to each other.  Rarely do we listen to the people who have made decisions in the past about issues or who are faced with them today.

I live in America where opinions are allowed, tolerated, and encouraged. I get to stand on my side of the field, and you get to stand on your side of the field – regardless of whether that side is the same side as mine or not.  Tolerance means that I let you think your way even when I strongly disagree.

Sometimes, our freedom gets away from us, and we get a little carried away. If only there were a flag on the freedom field for taunting…

It is time to start listening.

Several years ago, I taught a high school speech class.  When it came time for students to present persuasion speeches, abortion came up very often.  As I listened to the speeches, I was stunned at the anger with which high school students could already have toward someone who disagreed with them.  I asked them all to take some deep breaths and to reconsider their rhetoric.  Consider what it might be like to have an abortion.  Consider what it might be like to believe that abortion is murder.

For high school students, the answers seemed easy until they had to consider the other side – not the argument but rather the shoes which the person on the other side of the argument wore.  I’m not saying that abortion is a grey issue – what I’m saying is that we become less angry about difficult issues when we start to listen to people who disagree with us.

When we listen to those who disagree with us, we win the game.  We can have firm convictions, attempt to influence legislation, and help to alleviate the suffering of those around us while listening to those who disagree with us.  We might even be able to work together.

Consider what seems to be an odd pairing of pro-life Catholics with Atheists for Life.  They have some fundamental differences; however, they both want to end abortion.  Rather than focusing on that which divides them, they work together on what they hold in common.  My guess is that this required some listening to each other.

As I wrote this post, I watched the “controversial” commercial again a couple of times.  I still do not see it – neither of the possible “its” that the #tweetstorms suggested.

What I did see was that ultrasounds have gotten a whole lot better than they were 19 years ago when I looked at my son for the first time and found out that he would arrive only six months later.

It kind of makes me want to have another baby just to see that cuteness on the screen in this new way.

Hold on.  Strike that.

I’ll wait – some day, maybe I will get to see a grandchild’s ultrasound in color.

Mental Health and the Art of Listening

Looking back in my last post, I realize that I was a bit frazzled as I wrote it.

Clue #1: I didn’t capitalize appropriately. Some bloggers do this for style. I was frazzled and writing fast.

Clue #2: I wrote the post in 23 minutes. Yes – from “begin new post” to “publish post” with “categories” and “tags” in between, only 23 minutes flew by.

Clue #3: The post has had more shares than any other post I have ever written. Frazzled, raw, and unfiltered posts grab readers right in the gut, and readers share.

I have had several private messages through Twitter, Favebook, and my email….I’m so glad it is helping people to articulate, share, listen and hope.

I am also really sad that the post even had to exist.

I currently have a lot on my plate. Those who know me recognize that I say this a lot. The truth is: this might be the fullest it has been in a while, and it’s going to stay full for a bit. As a good friend/mentor says, “It is what is it.” The days will be long and interesting, and we will get through them.

What I do not want to do in the midst of this busy time, though, is to lose my ability to listen.

I should pause here and share that I struggle to be a good listener. I tend to want to interrupt, fill in your sentence, and move on to the action part – usually where I fix whatever it is that happens to be wrong. However, I have been trying hard recently (and for the past decade!) to look others in the eyes, be still, and give space for them to explore in my presence rather than dragging them past themselves into a solution.

I have sat on the receiving end of this practice with friends, my counselor, and mentors.  This is where the work of improving mental health happens.  Mental health doesn’t improve because you give me your recipe for success.

Mental health improves because I feel heard.

How can we be better listeners?

1. Close our mouths as others talk. I’m not kidding. We need to get over ourselves and not want to get in a word.
2. Breathe deeply and look the other in the eyes. The calm that we present will help the other remain calm even when the situation may be very chaotic.
3. Do not fear silence – in fact, count to five or ten before talking when the other person pauses.
4. Ask open-ended questions that allow others to understand their issues better. An example of this happened over the weekend when a friend asked me to clarify a statement I had made. It was not for her understanding that she asked the question but rather as a way for me to see over the issue and past what bothered me.
5. Just listen. Just be there. If the other person sheds a few (or many) tears, honor those tears, let them flow, and don’t comfort to the point of stifling what might be a very healing or cathartic moment.

I share quite openly that I struggle with mental health issues.  the last post I wrote published less than three hours before I spoke to our church’s youth group about mental health and their faith.

I told them that there are adults willing to help them.  I told them that because I have experienced that truth over and over again in my life.

I have run into the person here or there who has not known how to listen. If it is a tough time for me, that is really, really hard.  When I’m in a more gracious place, I realize that I’m not always so good at this art of listening either.

It’s a new day. It’s a new week.  Football season is over, and the Broncos won (yay!).

As we start off this week, let’s try to practice listening more and taking less. We may learn more about others than we ever dreamed was possible.

 

mental health, youth group, north dakota, and me

it’s 4:38pm, and i should be in the shower.  in less than three hours, i will stand before a group of 7-12th grade students at our church and talk about mental health, faith, and how the two meet. in my last minute preparations, i ran across a statistic that took my breath away.

not in a good way

according to HOPE for Suicide Prevention, suicide is the leading cause of death for ages 15-24 in north dakota.

what?

here i sit…with that information…breathe, stacy, breathe…

do i tell the kids that?

i think i have to tell them.

the kids who sit in front of me tonight are in that age group. they need to know that they do not have to kill themselves. they need to know that they can take each other seriously. they need to know that it isn’t a game or something that they should do because someone else did it. they need to know that they are important today and will be important tomorrow.

they need to know that there is help.

it seems odd that north dakota would have this issue, right? or maybe not.  people who live in north dakota are strong, hard-working, and private. when we stand behind a mask that we put on to keep that image, we often hurt ourselves. and others.

fear of being found out keeps us from saying anything to anyone. pull yourself up and keep on going. if anyone knew what went on inside my head, what would they think?

and there isn’t exactly a plethora of help here.  the thing is, though, that there is probably more help than people realize.

there are big churches here. there is good medical care here. it’s here – walk through the doors, open your mouths, and say the words that will get you some help.

that sounds hard.

and it is.

it isn’t easy for me hit “publish” on posts that reveal to the world that i struggle with energy shifts that cause mood shifts that keep me from wanting to say “help.” but i do it.

i do not do it so that you can look at me and feel sorry for me. i do it so that you can look inside yourself and say, “i can do it too. i can ask for help.”

i do it so that you can look at the person next to you in church and be ready when they say, “can you pray for me? i’m struggling with some feelings, and they scare me.”

i do it so that we stop whispering and wondering and wasting our lives caring about the wrong things.

mental illness is an illness. we only get better when we do all of the things that an illness requires. sometimes illness requires help, intervention, and care.

and that is what i’m going to the kids tonight.

God cares enough about you for you to get help to take care of you. the scary things inside of your head will be less scary when you ask for help, get help, and look to God for truth.  the point is to understand how to manage your emotions and energies so that you can live.

it doesn’t matter where we live, this is an issue. when we stop making it such a big deal to struggle and instead make it a big deal to manage, care, and assist, we will change the tide.

suicide should not be the leading cause of any age group anywhere.

reach out, hold a hand, and speak truth into each others’ lives.

today.

now.

Psalm 46:1 – God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.

ps: if you know someone who took his or her life, it’s not your fault.  don’t beat yourself up about it. God doesn’t want you to hold onto that guilt.

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on a lighter note, the giveaway for “Meditations” the coloring book ends on 2/4 at 11:59pm – be sure to get in on it!

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Some Days I Walk Into the Counseling Office and…

…. I look like I just got out of bed. My hair is in a ponytail with those crazy sprigs making that fuzzy weird look that happens when I haven’t had time to shower. I’m wearing sweatpants – not the yoga pants that are almost acceptable at work now – the full on sweatpants that even the most uncool won’t wear outside of their house anymore. I’m wearing my most comfortable sweatshirt. It is the one that I’ve had for a long time, that a friend gave to me, and that I’m pretty sure will stay with me until I die. Even though the ends of the sleeves are unraveling and breaking apart, I find comfort in the worn-out inside that makes me feel like me.

These are the days in the counseling office when we pick apart the scariest parts of my brain. The scary is mostly caused by chemistry and impacts energy. The energy changes that come with the ups and downs of a bipolar brain can sometimes be a little overwhelming. Although I have some sense of seasonal impact, I really do not know when a change could happen.

Most people think that the scariest part of mental health are the low energy times.  In fact, for most people high energy times are much worse.  The brain races along faster than we can catch our thoughts. We open businesses, agree to too much, and talk super fast.  We might not even be able to listen to you because your words are not coming out fast enough for us. We interrupt, speak for you, and often misunderstand what you really meant.

Another common misconception is that low energy and sadness go hand in hand.  This is simply not true.  While they can co-exist, they are two separate entities.  Depression/low energy is not really a bad mood.  It is simply low energy.  Imagine influenza with the headache and fatigue.  That is low energy.  The DSM might have depression in the mood category, but I think it is wrong.  Sadness is a feeling, and that can happy in a high energy time or a low energy time. Feelings and energy are different.

I digress – back to the counseling office.

On other days, I show up looking like I may head to the beach. I’m wearing the shirt that makes me feel the most like me. This past summer I wore the same shirt to all of my counseling sessions. I bought it when I was on a trip to Rhode Island for a wedding in May. Somehow I had under-packed and needed more clothes. Having to go to the store and find a couple of shirts that would look OK in the various occasions that I had to attend is one of the worst things that I could need to do. On rare occasion, though, I find things in stores that scream me.

My favorite days are when I enter the counseling office and it might not be clear which is of us is the client and which is the counselor. I look like I’m ready to conquer the world.  I may be in those yoga pants or the black dress pants that I wear to to important meetings. This is when I think that I have all my crap together, and being in the counseling office might actually be a waste of both of our time.  But it isn’t.  These are the days that I get the most done and am able to identify how to keep my crap together once I leave the office.

Even though we have come along way in our society in regards to our attitudes about the counseling office, we still attach a stigma to those (like me) who spend several hours a year there.  More often than not, we do not want to say that we are going there, why we are there, or how long we have been there.

I have decided that, regardless of which of these Stacys walk into the counseling office, it is a good place to be.  My counselor is only concerned about me making good choices, she has nothing at stake in this, and she is trained to ask the hard questions that most of us would be afraid to even think.

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If you think you need a session or two with someone who can do that for you, I highly suggest that you seek someone today.  If you live in a little town without a counselor, contact Family Innovations in Minnesota. They have just added online counseling to their arsenal.

Mirror, Mirror – Embracing Our Fractured Selves

I love words.

I love how they look inside our heads, on pages of books, and even on screens of various devices.

I love how words form clouds of vibrations in the air as people give voice to them.  I love the sounds that they make, how they can put weight on our hearts, and how they can lift our spirits.  I love the tones that we give them, and I love the emphasis that we place on just the right words in sentences we say.

I love how words take my jumbled thoughts from my mind and make sense when I type them into a blog post.

What I love most about words is the pictures that they create in our minds with their various meanings and how those pictures become clearer as we understand the meanings of the words in different ways that impact our lives in meaningful ways.

The word embrace has become that for me recently.

According to Merriam-Webster.com, embrace has many meanings.

One use of the definitions tells us of a physical “hug” type experience.  This would seem to require at least two people who like each other enough to touch each other, to hold each other, and to be near each other for a few seconds or more.

Another sense of the word is that of acceptance in a wholehearted way. This is different than seeing reality as it is and being ok with it.  Instead, we “hug” reality in the same we would a friend whom we have not seen for a long time. We bring it into ourselves and realize that how it is will be a good way to move forward once we accept it.

These definitions of the word can mean so much more when we turn the concept onto ourselves.

When I look in the mirror sometimes, I do not have a clue who it is that I see. There are glimmers of a person who was as well as who is.  Who I am today is a sum of parts.  Some are negative while others are very positive. If I were honest, I would say that I most often feel compartmentalized into the various ages, stages, experiences, and feelings that combine to make me Stacy today.

Rarely – though more so as I age and become very conscious of this concept – do I feel whole.

While there is no running away from the sum of our parts, most of us have parts that we would like to shed.  We write stories in our heads about these parts – we think of it as memory, but is it?  I do not think so.  How I recall a situation and how you recall the same situation may be very different.  Where do we find the reality of it? We rarely do.

How scary is that?

The revisionist historian in me wants re-write my past so that I am victorious when I was not. When I am tempted to do this, I ignore the parts that make up my whole.  I desire to shed the poor decisions rather than look at them, learn from them, and grow because of them. Who I am today would be different if the path that brought me here changed.  When I attempt to change the past (impossible), I would risk changing who I am today.

I drove a lot last week.  Over 1200 miles of thinking time can be risky.  In this case, I think I found something. Somewhere in the last hundred miles, I found an image in my head that I cannot shake.

In my mind, the now-Stacy turned around and saw myself at an age that I would love to shed.  We all have them. We all probably have more than one of them. I certainly do.

I looked at her, and I realized that I am older, wiser, and stronger because of her.

Without her, I do not exist.

In my mind, I embraced her in all of the ways that the word can be used. I held onto her as you would a friend who is about to leave or who is about to fall apart. I apologized to her for wanting to get rid of her, for ignoring her, and for not seeing her strength. Perhaps most importantly, I accepted her into me as part of my whole self.  I allowed that me to be absorbed into the today me.

There are more little bits of me that need this type of embrace, and it probably is not a bad thing to take a moment each day to ask “myself” if there is a bit that is feeling rejected from me.  If rejection from others hurts, how much more does it hurt when we reject a bit of ourselves?

One of the synonyms that Merriam-Webster gives for embrace is cherish.

I love a good word definition search.  The thesaurus may be dying in some worlds, but it is alive and well in my world.  Give me a word, leave me alone to search down its likenesses, and I will find another way to see that word.  That is exactly what happened to me as I considered embrace in reference to myself and these parts that nag at me to see the world their way instead of as a combined vision of the whole of me.  In that search for what it really means to embrace those parts of me – to alleviate their stress of seeing the world their way – I found cherish.

All of the definitions I could find about cherish points to a very special way of seeing a person, place, or object.  When we cherish something, somewhere, or someone, we love and hold it so deeply that we can barely describe why. Words leave us, and emotions flood our senses.

As I stared into my eyes in the mirror yesterday afternoon, I asked myself if I could continue to have the compassion that I found over the weekend. Time will tell, but it is my intention to look at the parts and shower love, understanding, and acceptance on them.

 

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Ending #2 – for those who want to hear about how God fits in to this in my mind…..

One of the reasons that I bother to look at the bits and pieces of myself is because I trust the truth that these are words that God uses to see me. It is unfortunate that love is not the word that many people associate with God, but God is the ultimate lover of humanity. The now-Stacy trusts, knows, and hopes that God embraces and cherishes us regardless of the redemption and restoration that we need.

It is because of His eyes that we can embrace and cherish those bits and pieces of ourselves. It is God’s presence with us through it all that makes our shaky path straight – not because of who we were or are but because of what He did and does on our behalf.

He takes our bits and pieces and makes them whole again.

 

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I have written about “parts of me” before, so I thought I would share with you the links to a few of those posts:

A Little Thing Means a Lot

I Like to Run…Away

A Confession: I Prefer Not to be a Bother

Image credit: http://oathkeepers.org/oktester/wp-content/uploads/2015/01/broken-mirror.png

 

 

 

Adjust and Move On

When we moved from Minneapolis, MN, to Bismarck, ND, last year, we found a home super close to a grocery store. This means that I make several visits to the store throughout the week to buy only what I need. Because I work from home, I often run to the store on a quick break in the middle of the day. The employees there recognize me, and we greet each other and talk as “almost” friends.

Instead of a bar (hint: Cheers…cue music), I have a grocery store.

The other day, I discovered that I am not the only person for whom this is true. In fact, my guess is that there are several people like me.

The woman for whom I discovered this is true entered the store at the same time as I. She pushed a cart into the store from the parking lot and then switched to a scooter-cart once inside. We passed each other in the aisles as we circled the stores in a similar rhythm, and we left the store at about the same time.

As she transitioned from scooter-cart back to cart, an employee engaged her in conversation. Initially, it appeared that they knew each other from outside of the store; however, I soon realized that they had the same kind of relationship that I have with the deli person.

He asked how she was, and she shared about how her condition continued to deteriorate. She may be in a wheelchair at some point, but she does not know exactly when that would be. He made a comment similar to one I have made about how that must be hard or some other non-committal and non-engaging phrase.

Her response caught me off guard.

Before I go on, I want to step back for a minute. I have had some struggles in my life. I know many people who have struggled in their lives. I have watched some people handle things well, and I have watched some people struggle more than I thought they should. Just writing that sentence shows how I have a pretty judgmental side. Who am I to judge how someone else handles their struggles? All of that to say that I have seen others live out the principle that this woman stated, but I do not think that anyone has ever said it exactly the way she did.

“Well, you just adjust and move on,” she said.

What? Did I hear her right? Adjust and move on? I don’t think I have ever heard someone state a philosophy quite so well. No stages of grief exist in that philosophy. In her statement is an inherent drive to accept what is happening and to do so quickly. The statement defines a desire to live life as it is rather than wishing for something different.

Regret, denial, worry, and other such concepts steal today from us. When we spend our precious moments wishing that this moment would be different than it is, we lose the moment. It passes us by, and we can’t get it back.

I realize that our minds are all wired differently, and many of minds get in our way.  We trip over ourselves and get entangled in our thoughts.  I have no idea how long this woman has had the condition that she has had. Perhaps she struggled through some denial, depression, or regret in years past, but today – as her condition only seems to worsen – she faces it with strength.  She plans to adjust and move on.

Do not misunderstand the power of these two concepts together.  

This is not – as my huz would say – a “make like a Disney movie and ‘Let It Go'” moment.  It would be great if we could skip the adjust moment and go right to the move on moment. But that is not what this woman is suggesting.  Adjusting our thinking from what we thought would be to being able to move on to what is going to be requires intentional thought.

A couple of years ago, we took our then senior-in-high-school aged children to Europe as a last hurrah before they scattered into adulthood.  It was a great trip, and I would do it again tomorrow if someone handed me tickets.  On our way home, we made a connection that scared me to pieces.

I had never seen anything like it before.

As we neared our gate area, we suddenly found a wall of people all pushing toward one spot.  Airport officials had set up a moving passport check right outside of our gate area.  Passengers trying to get anywhere had to funnel into one area with a few checkpoints.  We shuffled forward, and time ticked onward.  It seemed our flight would take off without us.

This was not a high point in the trip for me!

I like control.  I like to know what is happening.  I like order, and I like logic.  There was none of this in this situation.  More than one of my family members worked to keep me calm.  As it neared departure time for flights, officials would call out the destination, and passengers would move to the front of the line.

There was nothing to be done.  A tantrum, screaming match, or breakdown would only make our situation worse.  In fact, we observed a man try those tactics – bad choice.

Adjusting my thinking to the fact that I would have to settle in, wait, and move on whenever the crowd permitted was not easy for me, but I did it.

We shuffled. We waited.  And eventually we were aboard our plane headed home after the trip of a lifetime.

Regardless of how drastic or simplistic the situation may be, we can apply the same principles and choose contentment rather than dread.  While many life circumstances are very hard, those who survive well seem to be the ones who can find the silver lining, make a change in their thinking, and accept what is out of their control as that.

How does this sit with you? New concept? Or old friend? I would love to hear from you!

Just Bring a Pizza

Last week, a friend posted a deal-i-o on Facebook that I instantly shared with a “YES” comment. Many FB friends shared it, so it must have touched on a nerve. It touched on a nerve with me too.

The next morning, the deal-i-o  was still giving me thoughts, so here they are. Incidentally, the same friend who shared the deal-i-o also shared a fantastic (and somewhat cynical) blog post about the deal-i-o on Monday.  I highly suggest that you read it.  I started this post over the weekend but just wrapped it up today.  She encouraged me to publish it even though it was so close to her post date.  I love encouraging friends!

God doesn’t give bad things.

There is seriously so much wrong (in my opinion) with the statement, “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle.” Right away, we are grabbing onto the idea that God is giving us all of the trials we encounter.  In fact, it would seem to me that we give ourselves some of our trials, we give each other some of our trials, and illness – a physical side-effect of spiritual sin being in the world – gives us most of the others. I have never believed in the kind of God who sits in heaven trying to decide which of  us should have cancer based on who can “handle it.”  Hello!?!?  Even the book of Job is more about getting us to learn how we deal with trials…not realize that all of our trials come from God.

What is more than we can handle?

Most of our lives seem to be recipes for disaster.  We over-commit ourselves in all areas of our lives, and we leave little room for margin.  When the tough things come along, our schedules have no room to handle anything.  A change in my schedule is more than I can handle.  Getting a cold sends me into a tizzy.  Anything more than that is seriously more than I think that I can handle.  And who is to say that I can handle less than you can?  Where does this phrase come from? Why have we integrated it into our line of thinking?

How do we view God?

I have sat in many prayer circles over the years.  There is a rare person in the circle who gives time to praising God for who He is, for what He has done, and for what He will do through us and for us.  Most of us treat our personal and corporate prayer times like a McDonald’s drive through window.

“I’ll take one healing of cancer with a side of extra healing for my dog, please.”

We forget that, though capable of our physical healing, God is more concerned with our relationships with Him and others as well.  The healing that Christ offered while here on earth was equal or more parts spiritual, emotional, and relational over the physical healings that He performed.  While God cares about us (consider the birds of the air…), God is far more concerned with the state of who we are than of how we are.

God created us for community.

God intends for us to celebrate with others (think birthday parties and weddings) as well as to mourn with others (think funerals).  In the in between of those kinds of moments is real life.  God created us to live life together – to play hard, to cry with each other, to listen well, and to encourage one another.

Before crisis hits, we need to take stock and prepare.

1. Get in community and start supporting each other.
2. View the trials of others as trials alone as opposed to consequences of decisions or “gifts from God.”
3. Create margin in life to both take in our own trials as well as to assist in the trials of others.

Consider ways that we can help each other in crisis.

1. Laundry
2. Coupons for pizza delivery or groceries
3. Childcare

Be ready to accept help from others.

Someone commented on my shared post of the picture above that people have to be willing to be helped in order to get help.  Ya sure. You betcha.  Maybe we would all be more willing to take help if we have done a good job of giving the kind of help that actually helps.

Just bring a pizza!

Idle promises of “praying for you” (and then we often forget to do so) will sound much more like promises if we just bring a pizza to their house and say instead, “I have been praying for you, and I thought this might help ease some of the burden.  I’ll be by next week to fold laundry if you would let me do so.”

It’s not easy, though.

I know that I sound like I’m chastising us, and I might be just a little bit.  I am not any better at this than the next person – on either the giving or receiving of help side of things.  When my mom died over a decade ago, one of the best things that a friend did for me was to bring me clothes for the funeral from (where we lived at the time) Minneapolis, MN, to (where the funeral was held) Grand Forks, ND.  I will never forget that generous act.  Even if we are not comfortable going to someone’s house to fold laundry,  something as simple a gift card for gas to help defray the cost of cancer treatments or for groceries to help ease the blow of losing a job will be a big help to those going through a trial.

Let’s look around today and consider how we can help each other.  That is what we are meant to do.

 

I Would NEVER….

Over a decade ago, as a late 20-something and first-time pastor’s wife, I sat in a room full of crafting and scrapbooking late 30-somethings at a friend’s home.  The chatter quickly turned to the latest hair-coloring or nail-doing experience with advice and suggestions hanging in the air between us.  At the time, I neither colored my hair nor had my nails done.

I stated clearly and boldly that I would NEVER color my hair and that I would NEVER pay someone to paint my nails.

Several years after that fun evening filled with laughter and my judgmental attitude, I discovered that having someone paint my nails helped me not to pick at the skin around my nails.  I had (finally) been properly diagnosed with bipolar tendencies and placed on medication.  The huz and I had long known that the skin-picking was a tell-tale sign of something being “off” in me, but I struggled to stop.  The kind ladies at the nail shop clipped away the straggling pieces of skin and transformed my fingers from disfigured to beautiful.

So much for NEVER paying someone to paint my nails…

As I passed my mid-30s into my late 30s, I noticed more and more grey in my typically deep brown hair.  As someone who others had mistaken for the nanny of my own children a decade earlier, I enjoyed the age-centering feeling the silver strands gave me initially.  As time went on, though, I started to notice that some of the strands were dull rather than the vibrant silver that I knew would come in another decade.  My dear stylist suggested a little layering of color to ease me into the next decade or so.  Every two to six months, I have her add another layer of blending, and it is fun.  Even though I do not want all of my silver to go away, I love the vibrant feeling I have leaving her place.

So much for NEVER coloring my hair….

This blog has been quiet for several months – over six to be more exact – and there are several reasons for that. I would love to say that “being busy” is the main reason, but that is just an excuse that I allow to rule my actions.  In reality, I think I gave up my voice – that style of thinking and writing that I have relied upon to communicate my deep soul thoughts.  When I started writing a blog a day in August 2011, I started to find my voice again.  I found a rhythm, and I thought, “I will NEVER stop writing.”

And then I did. The blog went silent.

I do not think that there is anything wrong with the fact that I have not written for a while.  For ten weeks of that silence, I compiled others’ voices (and little bit of my own) into a project for Village Creek Bible Camp.  The compilation of voices all focusing on providing a daily devotional thought to anyone who would buy the book is – next to my marriage and raising two wonderful children – the project that has given me the most life. Ever.  I was seriously overwhelmed by nearly thirty others giving their time, energy, and talent to a project that was born from a conversation.

So…what is wrong with NEVER?

The social media world bombards us with information about much bigger NEVERs than hair-coloring or not blogging.  In our efforts to share our deep beliefs on all points on a given spectrum, we often reach a point where we say things that sound a lot like NEVER.  And then those NEVERs start to create walls between us, and our dialogue stops as we pick up our stones ready to throw them toward the words on the “other side.”

Before we say NEVER, we might need to take inventory of our lives and our purpose.

The words on the other side of where we stand have people in front of them. In the same way that I let a stream of judgment flow onto my friend about hair and nails, we cover others around us with our opposition to their words.  We rarely consider the harm that this brings to our relationships.  Even when do consider it, that rarely concerns us.  We want to win the argument.  We want to be right.

And we forget that there are relationships at stake. 

Often our differences and judgments come from our life experiences.  We engaged in some kind of NEVER earlier in our lives, and now we have to stand against that in order to reconcile or to redeem our past decisions.  We have been hurt by the NEVER of someone else, and now we have to stand against that in order to heal.

Anger – judgment – does not lead to healing.

As an opinionated person, I am grateful that – in America – we all get to have our opinions.  With the First Amendment in place, I can be wrong, you can be wrong, and we have to be civil about our disagreements.  If our speech incites actions that would harm others, we lose that freedom. While most people would disagree with me on this, I am going to say that most of our current speech falls into this category.  Rather than engaging in loving conversation that leads to greater understanding of others’ opinions, we lob hateful (and sometimes unrelated) grenades at the other side and then look surprised when an explosion occurs.

I have had a few thoughts bouncing around in my head that sound a lot like “that voice” that I used to have through writing blog posts.  As I share those thoughts, I desire to always come to “the table” with love, consideration, and hope.  In my latest “old age,” I know better than to say that “I would NEVER” (purposefully) be hurtful as I write.  I do hope that I avoid hurtful speech, though, and would appreciate readers holding me to that.

Still Stepping Those Big Steps

As I sit and write this, there is a lot I should be doing. Laundry, dishes, paying bills – tasks that need to be completed before the clock strikes the time to leave on another trip to Texas to see my two freshman Bears (sic’em!).

I have lost track of the times I have been to Baylor this year.

If I sat and thought hard enough, I would remember the whirlwind drives that have become very familiar.

If the same car took all of the trips, it would know its way without my direction.

Lots to be done. But nothing seems as pressing as this writing.

Two years ago around this time of year, I wrote a blog post titled, “The First College Tour,” a misnomer as I had not been on the first college tour. In that post, I shared about how hard this whole “growing up as a parent” seemed.  Watching the little people that I had – at times – hoped would grow up faster than they were so that they could tie their own shoes or use the bathroom without needing constant supervision as they became adults-in-training seemed so hard.

And it still is!

This continuum. This big deal.  This turning of the light switch from “my kids” to “my adults in training.”

Hard.

And wonderful….

They have navigated a lot. They have had to do so – they chose to attend school thousands of miles away from home.

I can’t believe that you let them go so far away…

Famous words spoken by so many including me.

What was I supposed to do? Lock them up?

I have always said that I wanted them to fly, and they did.  And they are.  And sometimes the road is really bumpy.  And sometimes, even though it is far away, I have to go to see them.

They just left two weeks ago.

Yep. They did. They left.  Again. So much leaving.

• The beginning of the school year
• At the end of my surprise trip in October
• After a wedding
• At the end of Thanksgiving break
• At the end of Christmas break
• At the end of spring break (just two weeks ago)

I think I could make it until the middle of May now, but I am not going to have to do so.  I get in the car this afternoon, and 48 hours from now I see them.

Next year could be different. Maybe I can go to Texas fewer times.

I doubt it.

And it doesn’t matter.

What matters is that I can say, “See you later!” and mean it because I will see them later.

There will be summer, another break, another trip.

It all seems so final on graduation day, on moving day, and every time we say, “Goodbye.”

But it’s not final.

It’s just not.

It really is, “See you soon!”

All of this is just training for the future.

Some day, they will not have stuff stored at my house.  As I typed that, I realized that I still have stuff stored at my house in Grand Forks.   I should probably get that….tangent….

The point is that some day things will look much more permanently changed than they are now.  I have watched others go through this as they have prayed their children through college, marriages, divorces, job changes, and moves.

The changes that come because children grow is hard….for their parents….

I have cheered and teared through every moment of these big steps this year.

And I know for a fact that I will do the same for many years to come.  Every day that they fly, I learn a new way of doing life.

This change seems so sudden, but we have been preparing for it for years.  The first time I put them on the church van to go to summer camp 200 miles away from me was training for today.  The first time they went to the mall with their friends – and no parent along! – was training for today.  The first time they took the car for a drive without a parent in the car was training for today.

While it appears that we – the parents – are training them in each of these instances, there is a very real truth that those circumstances trained us as well.

Plenty of books on parenting exist. None do justice to the way that it really feels when kids leave home.

This is not some cheesy sentimental post.  Really – it’s not.

I want to be serious about the fact that we have to let them fly, to let them go the direction that God takes them, and to let them learn the lessons that we all learned through success and failure.

So…mom, it’s ok to feel like you are still taking big steps…they are big steps…just keep taking them…