Brave, Anyway

Tag: bravegirlwannabe

  • Mid-Life

    Mid-Life

    There are five basic stages of life: child, teenager, adult, mid-life, and old. Not all of these stages have clear parameters in my brain, but as I am not yet retired, I am not yet old. So that puts me firmly in mid-life. Or so I thought, until my old boss pointed out that mid-life is not 50 unless people live to be 100. I’m 53 years into life, and math has never once made my day better.

    I don’t know that I ever gave much thought to midlife before now. As a kid, I couldn’t wait to be a teenager. As a teenager, I couldn’t wait to be an adult. And once I became an adult, life became a whirlwind of career, kids, responsibilities, and deadlines. The only thing I have really looked ahead to and planned for is the retirement years. But it turns out, these midlife years aren’t just flyover states on the way to old age. They’re actually a pretty awesome destination all on their own.

    The girls are older, and more and more they have their own lives. And that means for the first time in two decades, I have the time and freedom to do and explore things simply because I want to. I’m learning what it feels like to be Beth again, not just someone’s mom.

    I have to snap because my girls snap, but mid-life me does it from my antique rocker. This should be called the Take On Me filter.

    I’m increasingly convinced that this stage is a very important part of God’s plan for our lives. It’s not a winding down, but more of a commissioning. Life experience plus the unique gifts God gives each of us plus time equals our ability to do the work only we can do.

    Maybe that’s why this season of life feels so good, with so much added energy and joy. I’m no longer chasing the next destination. I’m growing into the person God has been shaping all along.

    At the same time, mid-life is not for the weak if you’re a girl. Seriously, we carry and birth the babies, and then we’re rewarded with not one, but two stages of menopause? Midlife is spiritually rich, emotionally freeing, and hormonally outrageous.

    In the midst of all the mid-life awesomeness, there are these kinds of thoughts each day.

    AARP is not for mid-life, it is for old age. Stop sending me mail. If you want me to sign up in this stage of life, one of your discounts should be with Dominion Power so AC can be cheaper. I need lots and lots of AC and it costs lots and lots of money.

    If I’m in the ER at 2 a.m. struggling to remember basic information, it’s because I’m a morning person and this is not my best time of day. Midlife patients need nurses who understand this. And if I joke that I don’t need a dementia test, that’s your cue to laugh. I don’t care if it’s fake.

    When my car needs service, I should be able to Google Toyota on Laskin Road and get a human. Or even a bot. Instead, I call three different numbers asking for Ken, and no one can find my record. AI can break into government websites, explain complicated science things, and enable political folks to create stupid images, but what it really needs to know is which Toyota dealership I mean.

    Stages of life in my back yard this summer!

    I spent the first half of life becoming a grown-up. Even now, I’m still the middle schooler who laughs at inappropriate jokes. Somehow, God has taken all the pieces of me that never seemed to go together and fit them into something beautiful. Mid-life is where you finally start to see the puzzle come together, and it’s so much better than I ever imagined.

  • Beatitudes and Bias

    Beatitudes and Bias

    The past year in the U.S. has been hard to watch. The people we’ve elected, the decisions we’ve supported, the direction we’re heading. It all makes me mad.

    Although I haven’t always succeeded, I’ve tried not to add to the noise because things already feel so divided. But I keep coming back to this: when we see actions that lack compassion, elevate power over people, or divide rather than reconcile, we have to ask whether that reflects the way of Jesus. And that question led me to the Beatitudes.

    The Beatitudes were written in a time of political instability, economic inequality, and high taxation. So many people were hurting, hungry, marginalized, and attacked under Roman rule. Wealth was concentrated among elites. There was tension between collaborators and resistors, and people faced violence when they dissented. 

    Rome’s political leaders sent their men in armor throughout the empire to make sure their authority was visible and feared. Leaders said it wasn’t about control, but instead about order and stability, with protection and trade. Stability would enable prosperity, and prosperity would enable taxation that would continue to support the stability. (Somewhere my middle school Latin teacher is so proud!)

    At the same time, the religious leaders who set the parameters for faithfulness and worship made laws that were near impossible for ordinary people to consistently follow. The laws weren’t a path to God but a standard that was impossible to meet. 

    People no longer believed political or religious systems could deliver what they promised. Because people couldn’t trust the political system that kept them in a cycle of oppression. And because people couldn’t trust the religious system that was constantly judging them. 

    What all the systems lacked was compassion. 

    What all the systems lacked was grace. 

    What all the systems lacked was humanity.

    The more I read about the context of the Beatitudes the more I see our modern-day America, with people searching for something trustworthy in a world where both power and religion can feel (and maybe are?) unreliable. 

    In Jesus’ time, the specific issues were different but the labeling was the same – people were grouped together based on things like cleanliness and obeying guidelines. Today, issues like abortion or voting habits are moral shorthand for how we evaluate and include/exclude people. 

    At a time when people need the church most, what they see from “Christians” can feel inconsistent, and I think it’s because we’ve let our politics shape our faith instead of letting our faith shape everything else. If we as Christians can’t agree on something so simple like God’s love extending to all people, how can those who already feel unloved or ashamed ever encounter the love of Jesus through us?

    It’s into worlds of unreliable systems that Jesus speaks about why and how we are blessed.

    Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.  We don’t have to have it all together to be blessed, and we don’t earn our way in.

    Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. God’s with us in the good and the bad.

    Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. I don’t have to win or control or be famous.

    Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. I’m supposed to care deeply about right and wrongs in the world, and about what God cares deeply about. 

    Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy. I’m supposed to have compassion and offer forgiveness, even when it’s hard.

    Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God. I’m supposed to be the same person at home and at work and at church and at the grocery store and everywhere. 

    Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. Peace takes work, and does not mean avoiding conflict or hard discussions.

    Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. I need to do what’s right even if it costs me something, including the approval of others.

    The Beatitudes are for the ordinary moments of our lives. All the days of all the lives of all the people who’ve lived since the time of Jesus. Even and especially when they are mad and frustrated. And maybe today, they’re an invitation – to love more like Jesus.

  • A New Year

    A New Year

    My word for 2026 is commitment. Unlike 2025 when I struggled to hear a word, this one came to me months ago. Seemingly a follow-up or wrap-up of things that have been on my heart for a few years now. 

    This year’s word is specifically about the commitments God makes to us. Commitments we can rely on, should rely on, and need to rely on. Relying on them takes faith and obedience, and what’s on my heart is that in the months ahead will be fulfillment of some of the commitments He placed in my heart and reminded me of in dark moments.

    I’m unusually excited heading into this year. Even though there are some stressful things lingering around, I find myself suddenly joyful throughout each day. Noticing small things, noticing big things, in the quiet and in the noise.

    I’ve discovered and am obsessed with mashups of Stayin’ Alive.

    I’m enjoying Lysa Terkeurst’s 40 Days Through the Bible and the questions she poses each day.

    I’ve even delved into house tasks I typically push off and groan about (why are new toilets so expensive?!), and checking all sorts of things off my list.

    I am expectant. And I really have no idea why, other than I just feel it.

    And I am happy. Silly and giddy happy.

    Loving a new painting of the Appalachians that I picked up.

    Adopting a new guideline for Breaking News and teenage antics: on a scale of 50 Cent to Jesus, how should I respond to this?

    Snapping pictures of a bathroom sign that said Wash your hands: Jesus and germs are everywhere you go.

    I’ve been trying to talk myself out of being expectant, and the word commitment. I guess maybe because I want to have realistic expectations and not be disappointed.

    But then this morning I was up early and headed to a workshop. It was 60 degrees and fog hung low over the fields on my drive up country roads. An eagle caught my eye to the left. He flew over me, then in front of me, and then stayed about 100 feet ahead of me for a good 10 minutes of my ride. Having to fly slower than he normally would. Flying lower than he normally would. Seemingly wanting me to follow him. Showing me the way. Or maybe reassuring me I’m on the right path.

    That’s when I decided I was going to write down that I am expecting. The 2026 chapter is going to be called prayers answered.

  • Hell in a Handbasket

    Hell in a Handbasket

    I failed a class in college. Political Science 101. I love all things politics so you’d think I would have earned an A++. But that class started at 8am, in a building at the top of a very large hill, during the very cold winter. I skipped it. A lot. 

    That professor taught me two things:

    1. The phrase hell in a handbasket.

    2. Always read the syllabus.

    His class had an attendance policy, which I didn’t know but I also thought shouldn’t matter because I was smart. Wrong. But I am actually very thankful for the lesson, which I have thought about on dozens of occasions since. That lesson made me better. 

    Hell in a handbasket was a phrase he said often, and at 18 I thought it sounded a little crazy and overdramatic. But now that I’m the age he was when teaching the class I find myself thinking a lot of things are going to hell in a handbasket.

    For instance, there is absolutely no reason to rearrange the TJ Maxx. We go there to wander around until we hear the call of the things that need to be in our home. But when some new manager decides to move whole sections around, shoppers can’t hear items calling them while trying to navigate the new walkway pattern and aisles. 

    Put. It. All. Back.

    But that’s not the real reason I’m annoyed today. This evening I passed a church with a sign out front that said “Everyone Welcome. No Exceptions.” And it made me angry. Why would anyone NOT be welcome? In any church, anywhere?

    Maybe because we’ve been getting some things wrong, like our responsibility to show the world the love of God. To live lives that reflect Christian values, to the best of our ability. To vote for policies and people that reflect Christian values, to their best of their ability.

    So many church-goers give Christians a bad name, with a lot of it boiling down to the refusal to obey God’s call to love your neighbor. So many church-goers give Christians a bad name, we have to put up signs – SIGNS – that show where the people who are marginalized are welcome and safe.

    We have so much repair work to do, and what that sign represents makes me mad.

    Sometimes I feel like half of America has put hope in a man because they desperately want to hold some sort position, at the expense of others. That’s not going to save anyone or make disciples. Sometimes I feel like half of America has put hope in a man simply because, whether or not they realize it, they no longer have hope in their hearts or their churches.

    Either way, it seems like a path to hell in a handbasket.

  • Father’s Day, by Numbers

    3: Number of Father’s Days without our Dads.

    11: Number of Father’s Days Audrey had with her Dad.

    15: Number of years my bonus Dad, my father in law, lived with us.

    17: Number of Father’s Days Ella had with her Dad.

    18: The day of June that my Papa passed from this life to the next, Father’s Day that year.

    48: Number of Father’s Days with my Dad.

    91: The Psalm that was my Dad’s favorite, that he prayed over all of us each day and that I now pray over all of us each day. Arguably the most important learning from my Dad.

    775: Days that Ella and Audrey have waited so far to get their Dad’s belongings.