Brave, Anyway

Tag: christian

  • Tough Talks

    Tough Talks

    Feast or famine. We’re all getting along gloriously, or annoyed and arguing all day. We find three pairs of shoes we want, or zero pairs of shoes that will be the needed match. The kitchen is full of desserts and we overeat, or we hate everything we see in the pantry.

    Tough conversations also seem to fall into this category. We can go for weeks or months without one, and then suddenly as the girls’ worlds get bigger in some way, I’m ambushed – sometimes caught still trying to map out what I should bring back up when a new subject pops up. What the heck did parents do before portable devices with a pathway to Google?! I rationally know I am not dumb, but I certainly feel like it pretty regularly. And I know the exact face I make when I know I am expected to speak but am out of my comfort zone, and four- letter-naughty words are rattling around in my head.

    Did you know makeup is tested on animals? I knew this, and yet I didn’t really know it. My go-to when unprepared is to respond to a question by asking a question, to buy time and assess the seriousness – a little but what have you heard? – but that didn’t even help here. She’d read a lot by the time she asked me. There’s no good answer for why humans would intentionally hurt animals, whether you’re trying to explain it to a person who doesn’t love animals or to a 10-year-old tender-hearted animal-lover. Cruelty is cruelty and it’s just not right. And no words can erase or explain the images that are so easily found on social media. So I landed on the old “when you know better, you do better” and sat patiently as she went through all of my products. Thankfully only four things ended up in the bad brands pile and a quick trip to Sephora fixed that. I was so proud to watch Audrey proudly tell the guy who greeted us that we were there to replace products by brands that aren’t kind to animals.

    Is abortion a sin? I’ve found that when I don’t feel certain in my answer, often because I am not really sure what I think or believe, that I just focus on statements that I am certain about. (1) Every woman I know who’s had one, whether they ultimately regretted it or not, remembers that day as one of the hardest of her life. (2) 1 in 3 or 4 women have had one, so we all know people who’ve made that choice and people who’ve made that choice fill our churches. (3) It takes two people to create a baby but abortion seems to be a sin of women only, and that’s just wrong. Whether the father is a loving counterpart or an abuser, he didn’t use birth control or tried to and it didn’t work, he drove her to the procedure or didn’t know the details, or maybe he was not around to even find out his counterpart was pregnant – he shares responsibility in the pregnancy and the outcome. (4) If we don’t lean toward empathy for people who’ve had to make this hard choice, no matter what choice they ended up making, we will never have real conversations with many of the people in our lives because shame thrives in environments of judgment.

    I feel weird about x. I hate when I don’t know context and I sense that if I ask a dozen questions to get the needed context I might frustrate the child and the opportunity for the conversation will be lost. If a situation makes you uncomfortable, even if it makes you seem silly to others, remove yourself from the situation. Always follow your gut. Additionally, if your gut says all is ok but something isn’t sitting right with a BFF, follow her gut. Maybe she’s more in touch with the universe today. Or maybe someone who would never be harmful to you would be harmful to her or someone else. Maybe it’s not even about physical harm; maybe it’s about mental peace. Follow your gut and support your tribe when they need to follow theirs. As a Mom or a friend or a colleague or a stranger, we need to support women following their instincts or advocating for who and what comes into their space.

    There’s no reason for this anxiety today. You’re right; today was a good day. But anxiety is not always about what’s happened today. Sometimes it’s about what happened a while ago. Sometimes it’s about lack of sleep or a good meal, sometimes it’s about overstimulation or a trigger, and sometimes it’s just about brain chemistry or hormones. Anxiety isn’t always going to make sense. Time spent in the moment overanalyzing all the reasons it may be happening or shouldn’t be happening is time spent poorly – time spent on how we help someone or ourselves get back to peace is time well spent. Sometimes we will really want to do things that will be a struggle for someone we care about. We can do them on our own or not do them – but part of loving someone with anxiety is not expecting them to do things that will cause them stress and helping them feel safe enough to communicate and to create boundaries, without fear of our reactions.

    Tough conversations make me second guess myself in ways I never do in other areas. Why did I take classes like Women in Cinema or Art History?! I should have been in classes like Explanations for Life’s Big Questions and Appropriate Responses to Drug and Alcohol Questions at Each Age Range.

    Just as I was overthinking all the ways I could maybe go back and touch on a few extra points without being annoying, I found my “Kindness Is” shirt in the mailbox (check out Kind Cotton!). I’d forgotten I ordered it, but it arrived at just the right time. Perhaps as long as we teach our kids the core things, and keep focusing primarily on those, we don’t always have to overthink so much.

  • You’re Way Too Old For This

    You’re Way Too Old For This

    Supposedly, it happens to the best of us. The words that made us roll our eyes when we were 12 come out of us, directed at the next generation of children…who inwardly roll their eyes at us.

    You’re way too old for this I recently said. And almost immediately thought ugh, I hated hearing that.

    You’re way too old for this was one of my Dad’s phrases, and I guess it’s now one of mine. So perhaps the days leading up to Father’s Day were the perfect time to reflect on the things in my life that I am way too old to still be dancing around or allowing, or not admitting or not dealing with.

    Sometimes what we think is wrong. It happens to all of us. That’s why we have to think about what we think. Which brings me to another gem of my Dad’s. THINK about what you’re thinking and thinking about, Beth. And think about what you’re putting into your mind. I think at sixteen, he probably just wanted me to stop listening to Madonna, but those lessons are still important at 47 – and it turns out that when I think about it, there are several things I am way too old for.

    I am under no obligation to listen to a steaming pile of wrongness. The moment we realize how off-base or wrong someone is, it’s OK for us to stop them right there – to protect the space in our brains and hearts, so our time isn’t wasted, and/or to stop others around us from being hurt, distracted, angered or upset by ridiculousness. We might sometimes choose to hear the whole thing out, but we’re not required to. Politeness does not make one a nice or good human. We don’t owe anyone an audience, and we’re not bad humans if we don’t give all words or energy a space in our brain.

    I don’t have to have people in my life who contribute negativity. I am also way too old for that. No matter who they are, or how good they are in other ways, or how long I’ve known them, I can wish people well and not have them in my day to day life – and that’s OK.

    I am also too old to continue thinking I can change or control other people. We can’t threaten or will or shame people into making decisions we think are best for themselves or those around them. We also can’t legislate people into being good or into heaven.

    Sometimes what is wrong for us, from caffeine after 4 pm to a beer after work to taking a knee to owning a gun, is OK or even right for others. I am way too old to be assuming the way I need or want to live or behave is the only right or good way.

    I disconnected from a number of people in the last election cycle because I could not see past their vote to see or recall the goodness in them. That was a mistake, and I am way too old to forget to focus on the goodness that is in most people. We all are so much more than our votes, mistakes, neighborhoods, family structures, job titles, and perhaps even what we and others think.

    I am way too old to be living in an unreal LaLa Land, where I embrace what I want to be true instead of what is. I can have hope and goals while still being realistic about where I am or where we are. I have a child who battles anxiety and instead of thinking I can manage or love that away, I must take action to help her and us so we can all live our best lives. I have a child who’s driving and will go off to college in just two short years – I can keep her from ever leaving the house to keep her safe or I can prepare her to navigate the world, and to have fun while taking some risks, and to love herself anyway when she makes mistakes.

    I am way too old to be putting off some of the items on my bucket list. I am way too old to be making excuses for not getting out to walk or taking the stairs. And I am way too old to not be honest with myself about my mistakes and where I need to be better.

    Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I may have been rolling my eyes, but I was listening. I’m just still a work in progress, while it seems like you’ve been a finished product my whole life. The youth bible you gave me when I started high school, that’s been old and worn for quite some time, still stays right on my nightstand with my more adult translation – because I am way too old to still be doing a lot of things, and because one thing I’m never too old for is reading and thinking about the scriptures you spoke and speak into my life, and that you highlighted and underlined for me.

  • Counting Every Blessing

    Counting Every Blessing

    Sometimes we don’t know what we don’t know or we don’t know what we’ve been missing, until we experience a thing and realize that’s what we’ve needed.

    For the first time in over a year, I went to church to worship in person this morning. I’ve been watching the service online each week and that’s been a beacon of light and hope amidst all the darkness and chaos. Online church offers many things in-person church doesn’t – you get to choose the time you want to listen, you can sit in your jammies and pause if needed, and you have privacy to have a moment or be moved without anyone noticing. But what it doesn’t offer, and that I’d forgotten and perhaps taken for granted, is things like hugs from people who feel like family, prayer in unison with others, and conversation with people with whom you have the most important thing in common.

    I was nervous about going into a place with so many people, even though I knew we’d all be wearing masks and social distancing. We’re all vaccinated, but still the thought of being physically close to people again seemed strange and a little scary. I resolved to arrive at the last minute, keep my distance, and leave promptly – and I broke every single one of my own rules.

    We arrived early because Audrey and I were excited to go and ready early and trying to decide if it used to take 25 minutes or 35 minutes to get there. We walked into an entry filled with familiar faces, and within two minutes I had hugged someone – not because he hugged me, but because I found myself saying “we’re vaccinated so you’re getting a hug!” And then when the service was over, we stayed around to chat and were among the last to walk out and say our goodbyes on the stairs.

    I didn’t want it to end, I was so happy.

    It was in the middle of the service that I looked at the pew in front of me and noticed the emoji face etched into the wood. Two eyes and a mouth in a straight line. The emoji that’s not happy or sad. The emoji that’s blah. It’s the one called Neutral Face, and it’s how I didn’t know I’ve been feeling because of the absence of worship with people.

    As we sang and talked about counting every blessing, these are the ones that filled my heart and the things I want to remember about this day.

    • When I mentioned the possibility of going to church to Audrey, I thought she would be hesitant because it’s different than what she was used to. But without any hesitation she eagerly asked “Will Mrs. Reesee be there?” I’m thankful for every Sunday School teacher I and my girls have ever had – from Mrs. Nunn and Momma Gloria in my day to Mrs. Wendy and Mrs. Edie and Mrs. Reesee of more recent days. I’m sure they’ve all had moments where they wondered if any of the kids around them were listening, but the impact they have on lives is so great and just beyond measure.
    • I sat next to my Mom and together we prayed The Lord’s Prayer.
    • Pre-COVID I attended the service that had the progressive people – the one with the band instead of a choir. Right now we’re hosting just one service in person, so that service has a mixture of music types to have a little something for everyone. I had forgotten in my years of always singing along with a band what it’s like to hear voices of all different ages and strengths sing together – from the traditional hymn to the modern song, it was just beautiful to hear the voices of the young and the old and everyone in the middle all mixed up together.
    • Audrey wore wedges today – her first “big girl” shoes. Her triumphant and naughty smile when she raised up on tip toes as my Mom leaned down and said “you are not allowed to get taller than me!” was the absolute best.
    • And finally, I want this visual reminder to stick with me. The further I get from spending time with God in the company of His people, the more my face goes from happy to neutral.

  • Easter People

    Every Good Friday, and actually on all my dark days, my favorite words of Pope John Paul II always come to mind.

    Do not abandon yourselves to despair. We are the Easter people and hallelujah is our song.

    More simply, sometimes our Sunday is just 48 hours away.

  • Winter of our Quarantine

    Winter of our Quarantine

    It’s been the longest winter ever. The winter of our discontent, you might say, even though I don’t have fond memories of that book.

    Months of cold and rainy weather. A crazy election. Half of America acting like we’re not in a pandemic and now half a million people in our country are gone. Steinbeck’s words could not be more appropriate for all we witnessed this winter: I know three things will never be believed – the true, the probable and the logical.

    All that during a time without church, activities, happy hours, travel, or even two-hour staycations to the movie theater. Homegrown terrorists attacking the capitol was almost a fitting wrap up to this year of upheaval and uncertainty.

    And yet our year of quarantine hasn’t been without benefits, learnings and blessings. Time with family – uninterrupted and without the constant hustle from school to work to activities. Time to read, watch, dream, listen, research, and create. Time to discover new music.

    Gratitude by Brandon Lake is my favorite new music discovery.

    Time to assess priorities and wants and needs. Time to set goals. Time to rest. Time to heal. Time to help. Time to talk. And talk and talk and talk…about everything from mean girls to anxiety to TikToks to the guy on New Amsterdam to voter suppression. And time to just think.

    A few months ago, someone I’ve known for a very long time accusingly told me I’ve changed. A couple of other folks had previously said something similar and I dismissed it. But you know what? They’re right. I have changed. And, in fact, I’m glad about it. And I really should have responded by asking them why haven’t you changed? We’re all supposed to be learning and growing and getting wiser all the time. If we don’t learn from our mistakes and our life experiences and what’s happening in the world around us, what are we doing? Who wants to just run around on a hamster wheel to nowhere?

    I am different. Motherhood changed me – I think of everything in my life in relation to the two most important people in it, because every place I go and decision I make impacts them. Responsibility changed me, in my personal life and in my professional life – it’s not my job to bear all burdens but it’s also not right for me to share all burdens. A cancer diagnosis for my child changed me – it made me question my faith but ultimately strengthened my faith, and it also changed how I think about health care. That’s the thing – experiences are supposed to yield learnings and also greater empathy for others. If we’re staying the same our whole lives, we’re doing it wrong. If we don’t care more about people as we age in years and experience, we’re doing it wrong. If we don’t prune areas and people that don’t want to grow and be better and do better, or that want us to stay the same, we’re doing it wrong.

    Perhaps that’s my most significant quarantine realization: I’ve changed, and it’s good. My lesser learnings can be summed up in a couple of bullets.

    • When I cannot wander the aisles of shoe stores and I don’t have anywhere to wear shoes anyway, I will have Amazon deliver slippers of every kind and in every color so that all work from home outfits still have matching footwear.
    • What the world needs when locked up at home is not at all complex: carbs and Bridgerton.

    A year ago in my wildest dreams I did not imagine that I would not hug my Mom and Dad on Christmas Day, that school would be virtual even though I was clear with the universe and God that I did not find that plan acceptable, or that my temporary home office would become my permanent office. I had no idea how much I would miss lunch with my faves and the sounds and hugs of my church’s hallways. I have missed worship, even though I was not generally a loud singer when I did go in person. I went to two funeral services recently and while I was sad about the passing of both women – both lives well-lived and both women walking the streets of heaven now – my eyes filled with tears in each service because I was in a church and singing old hymns with a group of people. There is something really special about voices in unison, in prayer or in song.

    My very smart friend Joy recently reminded me to read from Job, a book I never turn to. And I realized that the lessons of Job are the lessons of quarantine. We are never alone, even in isolation. We won’t always know the why, and we have to be OK with that in order to grow. Bad things don’t just happen to bad people – they also happen to good people. The times when it’s hardest to have faith are the times when we grow and change the most. And as Job trusted God more…he grew and he changed.