Brave, Anyway

Tag: christian

  • Dear Dad

    Dear Dad

    I’m tired. I’m guessing you know that, but I’m really not sure. Can you see me now, hear me? Do you know the things I’m talking to God about? In the last 6 days, I have thought more about what heaven is like than I did in all the 18,000 days prior to now combined.

    You’ve moved to a new place, and I’m not sure what it looks like. I have no pictures to help me visualize it, so basically I’m making it all up. It’s got a beach, mountains, fields of wildflowers, valleys with streams and wildlife, far east countryside, and even a middle of the ocean with no land in sight – and you can constantly move back and forth, and experience all the different kinds of land and sea scapes that brought you joy, and that you loved to just watch and feel and smell. Is that even remotely what it’s like? I doubt it, because according to Corinthians Things that no eye has seen, or ear heard, or mind imagined, are the things God has prepared for those who love him. I’m so happy to know without a shadow of a doubt that you’re in heaven, but it makes me sad not to be able to picture you somewhere.

    Now that you’re in heaven, assuming you see me, do you see me only as I am today or do you now have greater knowledge about all the things I said and did that little girls hide from their Daddies? Because YIKES if it’s the latter. I guess none of it would surprise you or change anything, but still – a girl should get to keep some secrets! Perhaps the thing I am the most thankful for right now is how many times you said to me “I am proud of you, Beth.” Sometimes you asked me to stop what I was doing and really listen to you say it, because you wanted me to hear it and absorb it. And I realized this week that I do really know it, and what a fantastic gift that is. As you would say, I know that I know that I know you’re proud of me – and that’s because you were a great Dad and you purposefully said it and made me pay attention. (I’m really hoping you didn’t say it so many times because you already knew about all the YIKES stuff and figured I might need extra convincing at some point.)

    I love that you kept this little piece of scrap paper for probably 40 years. I wish I knew or remembered the story of that day.

    Why did you die in the year of freedom? What’s the lesson for me there? I haven’t figured it out yet. I just don’t know now why my word for the year is freedom. Is Romans 8 a part of it? I have to think more on this.

    Message received, loud and clear, that this timing is by design. On purpose. God’s plan. How I live and behave and speak in these days is critical, showing others the way to grieve and to live. I’m doing my best. There has been some mild cursing.

    Sending us a police officer named Paul, who has parents named Paul and Linda, was the absolute best reassurance that God is with us, went before us, and we shouldn’t be discouraged.

    The day after you went to heaven, I ate the can of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle soup you always kept in the pantry for when anyone was feeling under-the-weather. You were so wrong to try to pass that mess off as some sort of Biblical cure because some Army guy from 1958 told you it was called Jewish Penicillin. It was salty, awful, zero stars and do not recommend.

    The song for this week was Van Halen’s Jump. I know you scowled every time I restarted it – but you have to admit that my awesome air drums were the perfect way to get my brain to shift from overwhelmed to focused, and to keep me from crying at stoplights. Rock and roll is not all sex and drugs and evil. I am right about Van Halen being talented, and since you’re not here to argue with me, I win.

    I spent time at Stumpy Lake this week thinking how you’d love all the sights and sounds out there, and looking for my eagle. I was frustrated not to see her. But then I realized she’s somewhere up there in the sky, even though I can’t see her. Just like Jesus. Just like you.

    While I was there yesterday, I Facetimed a friend and I was shocked to see myself for the first time. To find that the person staring back at me looked the same. The world feels so different, so I assumed I would look different.

    The world is full of pressure right now, from all sides. But I very clearly remember your instruction for when this happens:

    * Do not stop.

    * Keep pushing back and keep going.

    * An enemy knows when he’s losing. He will throw all he has at you in his last ditch effort, just before he surrenders.

    I was worried about Audrey’s dental work this week, because you weren’t here to pray. But Joy convinced me that your years of prayers for all of us keep working. I had no idea! Why didn’t we talk about this while you were here?

    I know it hasn’t looked like it at all moments, but I am OK. We talked about this time on numerous occasions and I am so thankful that you very intentionally spoke to me about it. I don’t always feel it, but I believe I am equipped because you said it. At the same time, I feel a little like I did when I realized that What to Expect When You’re Expecting in no way prepares you for having an actual baby.

    Miss and love you, Beth

    PS: It looks like Jimmy Carter is headed your way soon. You should maybe not tell him what you thought of his job performance and just focus on his post-Presidency work.

  • Dad

    My Dad has had a very big 24 hours. I imagine on his first day in heaven he got to see his Mom, reunite with all the folks in the great cloud of witnesses that cheered him on during his 82 years here, see all the cats and dogs and horses and fish he dearly loved during his time on earth, and he got to experience the pure joy in His presence that we read about in Psalms. And if by chance there is a crew of pranksters in heaven, my Dad has undoubtedly already joined it.

  • Freedom

    Freedom

    Do you make New Year’s resolutions?

    I never know the right age to divulge more information to the girls. Should I just say yes because they’re going to do it in school or should I really say what I think and practice? And most importantly, will my truth result in an email from a teacher who thinks I’m the craziest parent ever when one of my girls repeats something I’ve said?

    I do not understand New Year’s resolutions. Once you’re a grownup, when you realize you need to do something differently you need to do something differently. Starting right then. Combine that with the fact that we abandon 80% of resolutions within 30 days, and I think we can deduce that the vast majority of the time the vast majority of us just don’t want to do the hard work to do or be better.

    I found myself admitting to Audrey that I do not make New Year’s resolutions. However, I do end each year and begin each year by reflecting on three things:

    (1) What are the ways that the past year’s word were fulfilled in my life?

    (2) What is my word for the coming year?

    (3) Is my list still good or do I need to make changes or additions?

    I have a word each year. A point of focus that I talk to God about, journal about, research, look for signs of, speak out loud, and expect to make progress in. In the past few years, my words have been things like fruit and promise and I can easily name how God showed up in my life in those years in those ways. So my words are also a way to practice and stir up my faith. Because I don’t always feel so faith-filled, and maybe more often than not am a bit of a doubting Thomas.

    My word for the coming year is freedom. Among dozens of other things on the topic of freedom, the Bible says we are called to freedom and that God responds to us and sets us free. There’s also the obvious the truth shall set us free. But the one nugget I like the most (so far) is that we are not to let ourselves be burdened again or to let go of our freedom. That implies that we already have freedom – and yet I don’t feel very free in several areas of my life. Perhaps this year will bring freedom from some negative thought patterns or the expectations of others, or maybe it will bring greater freedom in my mind and heart to dream bigger or simply to be silly more. It’s only day 2 and the possibilities are endless.

    And then there’s my list. The list of things that I want to be true for Ella, Audrey and I. I started it long ago in my phone and it helps center my thoughts and prayers for us – and as we all get older and the world gets bigger, new things get added to the list. The old faithfuls are that we are healthy physically and spiritually and mentally, and that we are full of hope, givers of grace, brave. As we got further into the teen and tween years I made additions like we embrace helpers and help, we enjoy school and work, we are safe and trustworthy friends, and we make good choices. And now this year, as Ella in particular has big decisions coming up, that we seek God’s plan for us, that we are not enticed by distractions, that we are honest with ourselves.

    I do have two constant resolutions: to put my girls first in all things and to be the best Mom I can be. On days when the house is tense because we’re all arguing about curfews or the length of shirts or how it’s OK to need help, I don’t feel like I’m doing a very good job. One of the things I need to be free of is the in-the-moment worry that their anger with me means they’ll act out or hate me. It’s on those days that the list reminds me of what’s really important and all the ways that things are going right.

    Our friend Abby took this photo of us a month or so ago. It’s one of my reminders that we can go from happy to mad to playful to dessert at The Cheesecake Factory all within about a 2 hour time period.
  • Sometimes What We Think Is All Wrong

    Sometimes What We Think Is All Wrong

    When I was a teenager, I told a small group of girls a secret that ended up getting out. At the time it was earth-shattering because the secret was who I had a crush on. I was absolutely convinced that I knew who “told” and I was so angry at her. I came home ranting about it and my Dad said something that has always stuck with me – you don’t know it was her, and it’s probably the person you least expect.

    Sometimes what we think is all wrong.

    I’ve been thinking about this line all summer. At home. At work. As a mom. As a reader. As a voter. As a processor of data and information. As a girl. As a friend. As a consumer. As a Christian.

    The earth is flat. Nope, turns out the earth is round.

    At midnight on December 31, 1999, all computers will stop working! Wrong again, and much of the world drank champagne or slept through the big nothing that happened.

    How about the beliefs (irrational fears) of southern parents in the 1980s? Kids wearing all black was a sign of something bad and hanging with the wrong crowd, maybe playing Dungeons and Dragons. Madonna, MTV and Garbage Pail Kids would all lead to sex or drugs or evil or all of the above. Our marriage to the idea that things that look and feel different are evil means we don’t easily recognize evil when it shows up wealthy and wearing a suit – presidents, justices, financiers. Or perhaps I just watched too much of the Smurfs and they made me a crazy communist.

    Why are we so tied to beliefs and someone else’s talking points that we’ve never really thought about or researched ourselves, while at the same time dependent on others to make progress by constantly questioning and learning? When we or someone we love gets a diagnosis, at least in part we look to medicine – filled with curious and constantly researching people who’ve asked themselves some version of what if what I think is all wrong? over and over and over again.

    Why don’t we apply our belief that constant learning is good in one area to all areas of our lives? Is it that we’re afraid to admit we were wrong? Is it that we’re afraid to upset God?

    When Ella was 5-ish, she came home from Sunday School questioning the teaching. Mommy, people don’t get swallowed by whales and live. I was horrified, and I’m also pretty sure I emphatically said we should not say those kinds of things while at Sunday School. When I anxiously talked to Pastor Chuck about how to talk to her about it and what to do, he laughed and wasn’t worried at all. Another way to look at it, he said, is that Ella is always going to know exactly what she believes and why, because she is really going to think about it – and that meant she would be able to explain it to others with something better than the likes of that’s what so-and-so taught me or that’s how I was raised.

    I’ve always struggled with a feeling that it’s wrong to have doubts. That it’s wrong to question. Especially as it relates to God and faith. But how can we really know what we think unless we consider all angles? How can we really know what we think unless we read the Bible for ourselves and ask ourselves what if what I think is all wrong?

    The more I think about it, the more I think there is nothing to fear on that path except that we may have to admit that we were wrong at some point.

    What if I am operating out of fear, and giving the girls space to make some of their own decisions is the best way for them to learn?

    What would I do differently if this process had 10 people instead of 5, or if the 5 had a better computer or program?

    What if the dress that I think is a little too short for Ella makes her feel great about herself and is the boost she needs during a tough week?

    What in the Bible definitively tells me God cares about health care? About women preaching? About abortion? And have I read it myself along with the content surrounding it so I have context?

    Maybe instead of being wary of people who have changed what they think or who aren’t sure what they think, we should be wary of the people who are afraid to question or admit they have questions. More than halfway though this life, perhaps it’s more of a red flag if someone hasn’t had an experience that changed them and how they think. We’re not supposed to never be wrong; we’re supposed to do better when we know better.

  • Trust in June

    Trust in June

    I don’t love the month of June. It always brings the chaotic last two weeks of school, which seems fun but really means standardized tests, World War III because of a dwindling supply of the good lunch box treats, and someone telling me at 4:46 pm that by 6 we have to be dressed and at a very important ceremony I’ve never heard of.

    June also is a month of anniversaries, and while most of them are good the ones that aren’t good are so overwhelmingly not good that my body and mind still have a physical reaction every time I turn the calendar and see June 1. I struggle to sleep, I struggle to concentrate, and my heart races or I break out in a sweat at the slightest disruption in schedule or routine. Eleven years ago in June, the world just exploded when one doctor appointment after another revealed that Audrey would be born with cancer, then needed surgery, and then and then and then. And even though I know that the story has a happy ending, June is filled with trepidation for me. A minefield I have to carefully navigate each year.

    This morning I got dressed up for church even though I really wanted to wear black joggers and my Nikes. I was hoping the perpetual pit in my stomach might wane if I could feel “together” and be in a place of worship. I have been reminding myself that it’s National Cancer Survivors Day and I should be celebrating the miracle of Audrey, but I didn’t remember that it’s Pentecost until I arrived at church.

    On Pentecost we remember the day the disciples received the Holy Spirit. It’s a day for tongues of fire and baptisms and new experiences. In children’s church today, the kids all blew on their hands to experience and be able to easily remember that you while can’t see the spirit you can know it’s there because you feel it or felt it. And it struck me that my experience with a voice and a feeling over a decade ago is what I really need to remember as I go through this month.

    When Audrey was just three months old, some of her test results came back with concerning indicators. Her oncologist asked that she come in the next day for full scans and bone marrow testing, and the pit in my stomach seemed bigger than it had ever been. That night, after she’d received her injection in preparation for the next day’s scans, I was sitting in my favorite chair in the family room and I heard a quiet male voice say you can trust me. I looked up expecting to see my Dad – I thought maybe he was still at our house and had not left to go home. But no one was there. I wondered for a minute about what had just happened and if I really was losing it, but I also realized in the moment that I was suddenly and unexplainably completely calm and at peace.

    I remember the voice vividly in really hard moments, when I need it most I guess. But day to day as life happens, with all sorts of little frustrating moments or anxieties, I don’t think about it as much. I guess the truth is I rely on myself for as long as I can possibly stand it and then I really only rely on God when I fail miserably. Not good.

    At the time, I told just a couple of people – in part because I didn’t want to seem crazy (she’s hearing voices now!), in part because not everyone around me believed in the God who I thought might be sending me a message, and in part – mostly – because I just couldn’t believe that someone as awful as me was worthy of a message. When the chips are really down, it’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking that what’s happening is your punishment or that God only loves and communicates with perfect people.

    This June is a bit of an additional challenge because a couple weeks ago in my frustration with myself for still feeling unease about June, I decided that the way to cure that was to overexpose myself to scary things all month. For the first time in over a decade, I threw superstitious caution to the wind and scheduled doctor appointments and even my regular mammogram for this month. My Dad would call that ignorance gone to seed, but I’m calling it a long overdue and necessary trial by fire. (I’m only calling it that because I still don’t like it when my Dad is right and I am wrong.)

    I loved every minute of this weekend’s Jubilee coverage. These are my faces when I realize I should have made different choices.

    Perhaps if I rely on Him more, in all things whether big or small, I wouldn’t spend June in such a state of unease each year. Perhaps if I firmly resolve to focus on the outcome instead of the obstacle, I wouldn’t spend June in such a state of unease each year. Perhaps if I stop hiding pieces of me and just embrace that I am a mix of good and bad and all sorts of contradictions but God loves me anyway, I wouldn’t suffer in silence and spend June in such a state of unease each year.

    I think one of the lessons of Pentecost is that the church is filled with believers that are human, people who’ve lied or doubted or panicked. People with imperfections. None of us is a surprise to God – He knows exactly who we are. It’s we that don’t fully understand who He is and how He works. As lights, as the church, perhaps we are at our best and most effective when we are honest with God and others about all the things that make us human and about all the experiences we have that are just unbelievable.

    Pentecost headbands with firelights!