Brave, Anyway

Tag: christian

  • Solidarity

    Solidarity

    I support strong women.

    I do not have to agree with everything a strong woman believes in to support her.

    I do not have to agree with everything a strong woman believes in to know she can do her job.

    I do not have to agree with everything a strong woman believes in to vote for her.

    This is not just a statement about Kamala Harris or Elizabeth Warren. This is about all women. My family, my friends, my colleagues, my neighbors, my fellow church-goers.

    I do not have to agree with everything a strong woman believes in to love her.

    I have great affection for and deep love for many strong women with whom I disagree on very big topics – abortion, guns, health care. And yet I think those women are fantastic mothers and grandmothers and aunts and cousins and lawyers and doctors and students and educators and artists and caregivers and professionals. They are fantastic women. They are fantastic humans.

    Some vote red, some vote blue. Some don’t vote at all. Some have children and some don’t. Some have faith and some don’t. Some have had an abortion. Some have been the victim of violence. Some have battled disease. Some cannot be alone and some prefer to be alone. Some like men, some like women, and some like both. Some are wealthy and some are poor and some are in the middle. Some are seemingly always lucky and some are seemingly always struggling. Some have great regrets about choices they’ve made in their lives and some live with more acceptance and love for themselves.

    I can disagree in very key areas with a woman or have very different life experiences from her, and still recognize that she is a good person and stand in solidarity with her.

    I expect more of women than I do of men. That has been a truth in my life since I can remember. I don’t know that I even understand all of the reasons why. But I know it’s not just me. As a nation, we are “harder on” women than we are on men.

    We are especially “harder on” female candidates than we are on male candidates. And that’s because, at least in part I think, of our expectation that women must do what women are supposed to do in addition to the stuff of the job/office they want to earn. We expect men who run for office to do their job if they get it. We expect women to do the job if they get it, on top of all the womanly stuff we feel they must keep doing in order to really be a woman.

    But it has got to stop. Strong women need to support strong women, especially in this time when women are being called nasty simply for having the audacity to have an opinion. Especially in this time when people are questioning one another’s faith because of how we vote. Especially in this time when our nation is led by a man who has mistreated women, and that man is supported by millions.

    I choose to support strong women, focusing on the ways in which we agree instead the ways in which we don’t. Because one thing I have found to be true of all strong women, regardless of their background or beliefs: they get stuff done.

    P.S. I also choose to support strong women who have a little sass. I have no idea if AOC is good at her job or represents her district well – I don’t live there. But I do know she knows how to stand up to a bully like a boss.

  • Faith and Trees

    Faith and Trees

    I pray for trees.

    I don’t know if this is a middle-aged crazy lady thing or a just a trust-God-in-all-things thing. Perhaps it’s a bit of both. But yesterday, I found myself praying for my trees.

    Hurricane Isaias seemed like it would be a non-event. Maybe I no longer worry about storms that don’t bring Jim Cantore to town or maybe my threshold for what gets categorized as chaotic and dangerous is greater after the first half of 2020, but I really didn’t think much about this storm. Over the weekend, I did my regular grocery shopping and I didn’t even buy water bottles even when I noticed a few people with carts full of supplies.

    It wasn’t until yesterday afternoon, as I sat in my home office and noticed the wind pick up and the dark clouds roll in, that I started to wonder if maybe I had not prepared as I should. I went outside to pull the basketball hoop down and an angry sky stared down at me.

    Hurricane Isaias clouds on Monday, August 3.

    I checked the forecast and relaxed a bit. Sustained winds in the 50 MPH range, with max occasional winds of 75 MPH, and not too much rain. I have a generator and a pantry full of food, I thought. We’ll be fine.

    But what about my trees? I love the trees in front of my house. They shelter our home, providing shade for us, and they are also the home for a couple of red birds. I lost a giant piece of my favorite tree last fall, so I know they aren’t indestructible. And then my neighbor in the culdesac lost a tree just like one of mine maybe two weeks ago, following a very mild storm. What if my trees couldn’t withstand the coming winds? Maybe I should have had them trimmed back. Maybe I should have at least called the tree guy before storm season.

    I didn’t know what to do and there really wasn’t anything I could do. So I relinquished the worry as I put my hand on each tree and asked God to protect it.

    Audrey caught me and asked what I was doing. Mommy, you’re praying for the trees?! She grinned at me and laughed a little, and I could tell she wasn’t sure what to think of me. But you know what? That’s OK. I decided it was a teaching moment and hoped I wouldn’t regret my words. I love these trees and God knows the desires of my heart, I told her. What’s important to me is important to Him.

    Sometimes we know a storm is coming, and we prepare. Sometimes we have no idea that a storm is coming and we are caught unprepared. Sometimes we know a storm is coming and we fail to prepare.

    I thought about those three categories of storm preparedness throughout the night as I listened to the wind whip around my house. But I did not look out the windows to check on my trees, determined to trust they’d be fine. Hoping that if I had enough faith, they’d be fine.

    This morning, Audrey and I went out for a walk and found that our trees had a few branches that needed tending, but they were standing tall and absolutely fine. Better than fine – they were beautiful, actually, as the bright blue sky showed through their branches.

    The sky through the trees after Isaias, on Tuesday, August 4.

    And I recalled the words of Dharius Morshun Daniels, who I watched preach recently, and I realized there’s a fourth category of storm preparedness: sometimes we have no idea a storm is coming, but we find ourselves prepared. His words came back to me: Just because you’re surprised doesn’t mean you’re not prepared.

    Prayer is part of preparation. Faith is part of preparation.

    3-Minute Video on Facebook: It’s Doubt That’s Illogical

    Dharius Morshun Daniels went on to say When I look at God’s track record in my past, doubting Him in my present is actually illogical. It would seem like faith would be illogical, but when you look at how faithful God has been, it’s actually doubt that is illogical.

    There hasn’t been a time when God has not come through…even with my trees.

  • Perfection Redefined

    Perfection Redefined

    With the exception of Mary, I don’t think I’ve even once thought about the women in Jesus’ family tree. What a horrible thing to be true about a Christian and a feminist.

    But a few weeks ago I came across an artist named Tricia Robinson, and was really moved by her work and especially her words about The Four.

    Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, and Bathsheba have something in common. They are grandmothers in Jesus’ family tree. Some were prostitutes, involved in affairs, some lied and were truly not the starry-eyed perfect princess. But God chose them…these four broken women. And that’s why I gave them crowns. A symbol of grace and love from our Creator and Redeemer.

    The Four, by Tricia Robinson

    I knew the stories of these women, but it never occurred to me that they were part of the lineage of Jesus. And it struck me that I have harbored a secret belief that all the people in His family were and are people who meet a high standard of perfection.

    I know that I can lean toward perfectionism and I thought I had identified all the thought patterns that needed redirection, until my reaction when I saw this artist’s work and her words. The bad and the ugly is that I still expect perfection of myself, and that’s not an attainable goal.

    I am very disciplined about setting realistic goals at work, but I am not-so-disciplined in my personal life. Particularly as it relates to setting realistic expectations of myself in my most important job: mom. I guess maybe a lot of moms fret about whether or not everything they say and do is enough, but I really feel that weight more in the last few years because my girls need and deserve a parent who is focused above all on them and who sets a good example.

    I may not be out sleeping around, but I certainly drop F bombs and can get my judge-y on. Translate: I’m far from anyone’s definition of perfection, including and especially my own.

    I also love the words of Ann Voskamp, which Tricia Robinson shared in her packaging with the print:

    Four broken women – women who felt like outsiders, like has-beens, like never-beens…women who didn’t fit in…And Jesus claims exactly these who are wandering and wondering and wounded and worn out as His.

    I feel like an outsider regularly. Depending on where I am, I may be the Christian who’s not a Republican, the Mom who asks uncomfortable questions of other kids’ parents, the one who won’t come to something if I can’t bring my girls with me, or the opinionated divorced lady who makes people uncomfortable because I am not afraid to stand up for myself or to encourage women to stand up for themselves. I’m a girl who doesn’t care about hair and make-up. I’m not a “single-pringle” looking for fun, but a woman committed to peace. And I’m not good at keeping up with friends and I don’t go on girl trips because in my non-working hours I hang out with my girls, cook with my father-in-law, or yell at the news and my Twitter feed.

    I am also wandering and wondering and worn out regularly. There’s a never-ending list of things I feel like I haven’t done (and that I actually haven’t done!). There’s a never-ending list of things I need to do with and for the girls, and that I need to teach them about and to talk to them about. There’s a never-ending list of things I’ve missed and of things that I never even thought about needing to cover until a situation arises and I think How did I not think about and plan for this conversation??? Which brings me back to: I’m far from anyone’s definition of perfection, including and especially my own.

    Maybe I should redefine “perfection” as simply doing the best I can. Because grace. But can I do that? Maybe it’s brave to accept a radical notion like my best is enough. Because grace. But is that crazy?

    As I was pondering it all tonight, Audrey fell off her bike and skinned her knees. I ran to grab the bin of materials to get her all cleaned up, and when I opened the gallon Ziploc bag of Band-Aids – which are the leftovers from dozens of boxes and themes we’ve had over the years – the one she pulled out said Brave.

    The family of Jesus is filled with imperfect people and followers. I’m one of them.

  • Quarantine Work-at-Home Learnings

    Quarantine Work-at-Home Learnings

    Every single work blouse I have can be paired with jeans that are old and ripped. Work pants are unnecessary BS in my closet and in my life, taking up space where more cute and comfy tops could be.

    Breaks are way more important than I thought and I need to take them regardless of my work location. It takes me 12 minutes to ride my bike around the neighborhood with my 9-year old. That 12 minutes changes the way I think about or dismiss a lot of things that happen each day.

    When there’s no one around to judge and make snarky comments, a spoon in a jar of peanut butter is lunch.

    For the first few weeks of quarantine, I thought I missed lunch with friends. But once we started having Zoom lunches, I realized that what I actually miss is lunch with friends where someone makes us fresh tacos and guacamole.

    I want afternoon chocolate no matter the location of my office.

    Commutes take precious time away from family. However, they also provide a transition between work and home, and I surprisingly miss that 30 minutes where I was regularly yelling at slow drivers to get out of the fast lane.

    I hate decorating, mostly. The whole idea of it is weird – using stuff to distract from the reality of what is or what’s there. But I have realized that I like to surround myself with positive affirmations no matter where I am, and that positive affirmations have a big impact on my attitude. They’re not only a good reminder for us about who we want to be, but a signal for others about who we aspire to be and what they should expect of us.

    A bald eagle flies high up in the sky outside my home office window every now and then. She is regal and fierce and graceful. When I worked in the office, even though two of my “walls” are floor to ceiling windows, I rarely took the time to look outside for rejuvenation or inspiration. I watch for my eagle each day now, eagerly awaiting her appearance. She reminds me of the words of Isaiah: But those who trust in the LORD will find new strength. They will soar high on wings like eagles. They will run and not grow weary. They will walk and not faint.

    I look rough by 3 pm, which I’ve always suspected but now know with certainty as I stare back at myself in Zoom.

    Zoom me throughout the day.

    My body and brain need the same amount of caffeine whether I get up at 5:30 to get a high schooler off for the day or I sleep until 7:30 because my first Zoom isn’t until 8:30.

    Whether at home with two dozen mugs to select from or in the office with two mugs to select from, I’m going to drink from the same mug every day.

    If I’m stuck on the side of the road and my cell phone is dead and a passerby offers me their phone to call a friend for help, I’m not going to remember the phone number of any one of my contacts. I will, however, be able to enter the Zoom ID for any one of my daily meetings.

    It used to be taboo for children and pets to make noise on the occasional day someone, or we, worked from home. But I am convinced now that we know our colleagues on another level – we know and understand them better – because we’ve seen the smiles they have only with family.

    I miss those moments when I make eye contact with one of my peeps across a conference room or an aisle or a hallway, and we each roll our eyes (or know that we want to roll our eyes but should not and will not). I also miss those moments when I make eye contact with one of my peeps and neither one of us speaks but we know that we’re each thinking “that’s what she said.”

    I’m not ever going to be the mom that makes dinner 5 nights a week, even when we don’t have activities and even when my commute is just a walk downstairs.

    Whether it’s the stairs in my office building or the stairs in my house, I will go to great lengths and make up detailed excuses to avoid taking them.

    I’m always cold, whether I’m working from home or working in the office. Air conditioning is necessary for me and yet never at the right temperature for me.

    When I was a kid, I loved school supplies. When I became an adult that transitioned to office supplies. Even though we do everything electronically, and even though I don’t use any of this stuff in my daily work at home, I still love to be surrounded by paper and post-it’s and pens and pencils and markers. Also, I need highlighters on my desk and in my life even though I never ever highlight anything – and I’m not sure why.

    I have not worn real shoes since March 13. No sneakers, no flats, no heels, no boots, no sandals. Only flip flops. Even for bike riding, even on the early chillier days, and even though I haven’t been getting pedicures. I am not sure my feet will embrace the eventual boomerang back to coverage.

    My favorite part of every workday starts with Audrey waiting in the hallway just outside my office at about 5pm. She knows my daily wrap-up may be 5 minutes or 25 minutes, so she often waits with a device. But as soon as she hears everyone say have a good night, she comes running in for what she calls end-of-the-day hugs and jumps into my arms or lap. It’s the absolute best, and I never would have experienced it if not for quarantine.

  • Home

    What makes a home is very simple: love and safety.

    Safety to be your whole self and to say anything, while knowing without a shadow of a doubt that you will always be unconditionally loved by the people there.

    It’s true when you’re 5 and when you’re 75.

    Home can be a house, apartment, tent, car, aisle in Target, and even in a phone call. It’s about the space you’re in with another person or other people.

    It’s not about bricks or walls or appliances or decorations.

    If you don’t have love and safety, you are in a place called a building or a dwelling or a house – you are not in a home.

    If you don’t have love and safety, you are not home.