Brave, Anyway

Tag: faith

  • Contradictions

    Contradictions

    I am made up of contradictions, and it confuses me. For some reason, I have harbored a deep-rooted belief that people should not be a mix of things – actually, that people and belief systems and governments and literally maybe everything should consist of elements that are all in alignment. That everything should “go together.” That everything should be congruous.

    I think this misunderstanding, in combination with a decision to sometimes hide some of the faith parts of me, has created a level of conflict within me for much of my adulthood. I am only just embracing that there’s no one way to be a “good” girl or Christian or Mom or caring person or wife or single person or leader or neighbor. I am only just now embracing that while there are core and consistent principles for the people on each of these paths, the paths are filled with variation and with unique people of individual experiences.

    I’m a girl who loves God but who sometimes drops f-bombs. I am a Mom who loves spending time with my girls but who also loves working. I don’t just work for a paycheck and shut off that part of my brain at 5pm; I actually love my job and all the responsibility that accompanies it. I have spent my entire life talking to God, and yet I married someone who didn’t believe in that God. I am a person of faith and of superstition. I believe in God and in science – I believe He can heal and that doctors and medicine can heal.

    My book choices are all over the place, everything from daily devotionals to 50 Shades of Grey to Touching History. The top played songs on my ipod right now are The Git Up, Knockin’ Boots, O Come To The Altar, and You Need To Calm Down. I’d like to say I spend most of my down time on putting “good” content into my brain, but the truth is that right now I’m more likely to read something where the vicar’s loins are afire or watch something about a yoga Mom’s murder in suburban America.

    In politics, I am a Christian who thinks that the decisions other people make when confronted with pregnancy are, above all, none of my business. I know that the justice system in the United States is flawed and punishment is unfairly meted out, and yet I believe in the death penalty and I think that some people simply deserve to die. I am a left leaning voter who just can’t work up enough feelings to really care about the environment.

    Contradictions everywhere. And those contradictions – those imperfections, those variations on what I thought a “good” Mom or Christian or whatever should be – have impacted how I thought about a lot of things. Everything from wondering if my daughter got cancer because of my badness (I know the answer is no) to can I really have a worthy opinion about something biblical if I don’t fulfill all the Christian good girl checkboxes (I know the answer is yes) to can a person marked by paradox really successfully shepherd children to adulthood (answer is TBD).

    I think the bottom line is that I have always had a lingering suspicion that my contradictions impact my worthiness or my goodness, but my newly discovered truth is that not only do my contradictions not negatively impact my level of goodness, they make me human and real – and my admission of them makes me stronger, and my admission of them makes my relationships with others stronger.

    One of my a-ha moments about this happened over lunch recently as I shared some of the most personal faith moments of my life. I spoke out loud about events and truths and actions and beliefs and realizations that have until now lived only inside me, or were shared in confidence with just a couple of people in my life. And nothing crazy happened – he didn’t laugh at me or think I’d lost my mind. In fact the opposite happened, and we discussed everyone’s desire to hide sometimes and the contradictions in all of our lives and stories.

    I have hidden parts of me, in part to make others more comfortable and in part to make me more comfortable and in part because I felt my contradictions made me less worthy or good. I let the pressure to be what others expect of me and the pressure of falling into a “good” bucket keep me from sharing all of me. And not only has that held me back, it’s kept some people around me from being their whole self.

    Brene Brown’s Call to Courage special is one of my more recent favorite things. I can’t watch it enough and it’s a sermon that needs to be digested in pieces over time – much like her book Braving the Wilderness. In some ways, I’m still a teenager who wants to cut pictures out of Teen Beat and hang them all over my walls – it’s just that “grown-up” me prints out or highlights thoughts that I need to mull over more.

    “True belonging is the spiritual practice of believing in and belonging to yourself so deeply that you can share your most authentic self with the world and find sacredness in both being a part of something and standing alone in the wilderness. True belonging doesn’t require you to change who you are; it requires you to be who you are.”

    I am made up of contradictions, and basically so is everyone else. Perhaps the key to a life really lived is whether we embrace our contradictions. Perhaps the key to a life fully lived is simply not hiding, and speaking openly about all the contradictory or confusing parts of ourselves. And perhaps it’s the illusion of perfection – the decorations we use to hide imperfections or the people who put a lot of energy into looking or seeming put together – that is our red flag for situations and people that are not authentic.

    My home is filled with random stuff, what you might characterize as contradictions. Our family rooms are filled with pieces that mean something or that I just like, regardless of whether or not they go together – so vacation mementoes sit next to antique marbles, old hymnals are next to Nancy Drew books, handmade kid crafts are on the same shelf as crystal, and stainless steel is in the same view as red barn doors and old quilts. I am done with trying to make me and make my home look congruous.

    I am made up of contradictions, and the contradictions are what make me me.

  • First Day of School

    First Day of School

    It’s the first day of school and I’m up before the sun, hours before any alarms go off, excited about your year ahead and praying for your year ahead.

    Each year of school brings so many new milestones, from new kinds of math to discoveries about yourself to lessons about people and relationships. As your understanding grows, the world gets bigger and bigger – the number of people and things you impact gets bigger and the number of people and things that impact you gets bigger.

    And so I pray for your growth, in height because I know that’s important to you and in knowledge, faith and spirit because that’s what’s most important to me.

    I pray for your protection, from all forces and people that would harm you physically, mentally or spiritually. And I pray for your discernment to recognize those bad forces that you’ll undoubtedly encounter, and that you will steer clear of them.

    I pray you’ll be intentional about your choices. That you won’t expect opportunities and jobs and friendships and relationships to just happen to you. Sometimes the things in your life that seem easy or seem to just fall in your lap are not right for you, and if you’re living intentionally you’ll see that they are distractions from your best choice and your best life.

    I pray that you’ll be intentional about your thought patterns and your peace. That you make choices to discard negative thoughts about yourself and others, that you seek friendships that add to your peace and positivity and joy and happiness, that you set boundaries to enable peace to thrive in your life, and that you actively hold on to your peace.

    I pray that you will not forget who you are and Whose you are. And that when you make choices that aren’t the best, that you never forget that you are always loved and forgiven.

    I pray you will be kind, to others and to yourself. Everyone you encounter each day struggles in some way, and I pray you will have empathy and patience and that you will see what God wants you to see in each person and in yourself.

    I pray that you will see you as God sees you.

    I pray that in the big scheme of things you will put greater focus on how things look on the inside of you than how your hair and makeup and outfit make the outside of you appear.

    I pray you will have fun. That you will enjoy your life, that you won’t take embarrassing things that happen too seriously, that you will find the funny in all things, and that you will make the fun when you or others are struggling to smile.

    I pray that you will love learning, and not just the stuff you’re going to read in books or online resources. I pray for your passion – that as your knowledge of subjects grows you’ll want to know more and more, that as your knowledge of the world grows you’ll want to go out into it more and more, and that as your knowledge of injustice grows you’ll want to act more and more.

    I pray you will surround yourselves with friends of all different kinds and perspectives. Kids who will introduce you to different kinds of thinking and music and art and play and faith. And I pray you will see the value in every single difference and person.

    I pray that you will not give up. You will sometimes want to, after a long hour or day or week, or when you’re halfway through a project and realize you need to start over. At those moments you’ll feel frustrated and you’ll cry, and maybe you’ll scream inside or have an actual shouty tantrum. It’s OK to embrace all those feelings and even to get sucked into them for a little while, but then I pray you’ll shake it off and get back to the task at hand or to simply living.

    I pray that wherever you are, you will always know that you can call me or text me to help you or to help your friends or to help your enemies. I pray that while you may fret that something will make me mad, that that fear will be overridden by the truth that I love you and I want what’s best for you. That the fear that something will make me disappointed will be overridden by the truth that nothing you do could make me not love you and that I have been in your shoes and have made the tough call you’re dreading to my own parents.

    And finally, on your first day of school I pray for me. That I will have the courage to face my fears and let you fly further. That I will give you just the right amount of space and room to grow. That I will not do too many things for you and I will allow and encourage you to do more yourself. That I will remember that most people and kids are good, and that you are not actually in danger the vast majority of the time. And that I will successfully resist the urge to smother you with kisses at the bus stop.

    I also pray that I will remember this day specifically. I’ll remember that Ella Facetimed with her best friend at 5:30 am so they could “get ready together.” I’ll remember that big-girl Audrey set out lipstick and perfume along with her shoes.

    And I pray I’ll remember that as I walked around the house turning off all the lights before going to work, I realized that girl bathrooms don’t change much with the generations – countertops are covered with makeup and hairspray and devices that are absolutely required for us to look just right for the day.

  • Closet Space

    Closet Space

    One of the best experiences in the days when your house becomes just yours is that moment when you realize that the closet belongs wholly to you. No sharing. No things hanging haphazardly and with no real organization. Tie racks become scarf organizers. Purses and shoes reside just above their corresponding clothes.

    The closet is all yours.

    All. Yours.

    You hear a little hallelujah chorus, and that chorus grows into full-on thank you, Jesus, worship.

    There’s been only one thing hanging in my closet that doesn’t belong there: my old wedding dress. Almost two years ago now, I pulled it out to throw it away only to discover that others were not quite ready for that step. Since then it’s just been hanging way in the back, taking up space.

    Over time we’ve talked more about the dress, and my firm belief that the girls should never wear it or even use the fabric. I’m a faith person, but I’m also a bit of a superstitious person – and if they ever decide to get married I want everything associated with their day and their union to have positive energy.

    Over time we’ve all become more comfortable with the idea of that dress not hanging in my closet for all of eternity. Over that same time I’ve become significantly more light-hearted, and laughed about the variety of things people do with their old dresses – everything from playing paintball in them to having a bonfire with them to mailing them to an ex’s office (now how funny would that be?).

    Until recently, I had every intention of simply throwing it in a dumpster. But I happened to catch a bit of a news story last week about brides who can’t afford gowns, and I was struck by their faces when they encountered dresses they never would have been able to get otherwise.

    And that made me think again about my dress, purchased from Karen Eagle on Laskin Road more than 20 years ago. A dress stored following exact instructions, and likely a dress in perfect condition.

    It seemed wrong to donate a dress that was worn on the first day of a marriage that was filled with lies and ended in complete disaster. It seemed like some poor girl would start off her marriage by wearing a dress that had really bad juju, and her marriage would subsequently be destined for disaster.

    And yet, what if a dress is just a dress? What if it’s just fabric, and the energy associated with it has nothing to do with its history? What if something good came from it? What if God could make something beautiful from ashes?

    My late night musings became a prayer over the dress. A prayer for the next girl who will wear it. A prayer specifically for her marriage.

    • May you decide each day to choose happy.
    • May your partner actually be your partner, with the same values and focus on family.
    • May you both keep and honor your vows, to God and one another.
    • May every I love you that you speak and hear be heartfelt and full of truth.
    • May you know deep in your heart that you are not a person in relation to someone else – you are whole and beloved and perfect all on your own, and in marriage you’re a whole person alongside another whole person.
    • May all the dreams that are good for you come true.
    • May God save you from dreams and hopes that you don’t know aren’t right for you. And then may you have the wisdom and courage to not chase that which God has saved you from.
    • When dark days come, and they inevitably will, may you and your partner always look to the Light together.
    • May your marriage last until death do you part.

    This morning on the way to work, I stopped at Goodwill and I laughed with the young man at the center about whether or not I should take the tax deduction receipt. It felt really, really good to make that donation, to get rid of that baggage, and to free up that space in my closet and in my spirit. And yet just a few minutes up the road I started to have second thoughts about whether or not a prayer for some unknown girl unknowingly wearing my cursed dress will really make everything work out okay for her.

    I know God has to be so tired of me asking for signs. I am the worst kid, always demanding: show me a sign, I just need a sign. How do I know this was the right thing?! Was this the wrong thing?

    And then I looked up as the traffic light turned green and noticed the car in front of me. It’s license tag, my sign: G Is Good.

    God is good.

    God is good, so I can trust that the girl who ends up with that dress will be just fine.

    She might be a young bride; she might be an old bride. She might be a formal wedding bride; she might be a JOP bride. She might be a first-time bride; she might be a second-time bride. Or she might just be a girl who needs a Halloween costume – and that’s a pretty fitting ending in this case, too.

    To whoever ends up with the dress, may blessings chase you down.

  • Lessons While We Wait

     

    I witnessed a hit and run last week.

    In a span of about 40 minutes, I saw slices of the worst of humanity and the best of humanity. The worst was an angry young man, screaming and cursing at the man whose car he hit. The best was a soft spoken older man, determined to put peace out into the world instead of more anger.

    After realizing he was physically OK and calling the police to come, we stood under a large shade tree and talked about humanity and peace and water and reciprocity.

    If we do not focus on our peace and put peace out into the world, we cannot ever expect to be filled with peace.

    Water purifies and it baptizes and it cleanses and it is a blessing.

    We get back what we put into things, and our investment of time or money or peace yields greater time or money or peace in our lives.

    It’s amazing how many core beliefs a Muslim man and a Christian woman have in common.

    Since that encounter, I’ve been thinking about reciprocity and how what we invest is what we can expect to manifest. At times in my life I have given with the right intentions and a pure heart, and at other times I have given with the secret expectation or hope of getting something specific in return. Perhaps that’s human nature or perhaps I am selfish and superstitious. Or perhaps all of it.

    When Audrey was just a few weeks old, I saw a commercial for St. Jude. I don’t remember the content exactly, but it had beautiful little faces and parents with expressions of both hope and worry. What I do remember vividly is exactly where I was standing in my bedroom when I saw that commercial, then sitting down on my bed filled with a feeling of absolute certainty that I saw it at just that moment for a specific reason. And I had a very strong desire to invest in something that helped others, specifically in an area where my child needed help.

    I have no idea if that commitment had anything to do with Audrey’s outcome. Logical Beth who consumes data thinks that her doctors knew what they were doing, and giving is not related to healing. Superstitious Beth will not ever stop supporting St. Jude becomes it seems like bad juju/karma/luck. And Christian Beth really wonders sometimes if that decision was a game-changer in the spiritual realm.

    I’ve thought about it over and over and over again in the last 8 years – every time I am at CHKD, every time I see a commercial for St. Jude, every time I sow a seed of any kind. Are the things we invest in little seeds we’ve planted for a big harvest later? Is it really that simple? And if it’s that simple, why doesn’t that principle override all others? Is there a seed some folks have sown or not sown that results in sickness within themselves or their families? Why are some people healed while others are not, seemingly regardless of their seeds?

    I don’t have any answers. I have only questions that lead to more questions, I have a gut feeling that the seed I sowed that day made a difference somehow in the lives of others and in Audrey’s life, and I have a lingering sense of disappointment in myself for the superstitious parts of me.

    Audrey’s annual oncology checkup has a number of traditions. She plays at the big wave on the second floor. She finds her favorite tile – the art project of a bravo kiddo from long ago – and she runs her fingers over the words Hope, Faith and Courage. We walk through the butterfly garden and have some quiet time. We get Starbucks when all of our checks and talks and papers are done.

    Loading the pictures to complete the order for my photo album, I really noticed the other tiles in the art display. There’s A Giving Tree and there are flowers. There’s one that says God will make a way where there seems to be no way. There’s another that says Bring People Together. And those brought my mind back to my friend from the hit and run. We parted with smiles and thankfulness, grasping hands and offering blessings.

    If we’re open to it, I believe we can find goodness everywhere. If we’re open to it, I believe some of life’s most important lessons come in the time of waiting. Waiting for the police to arrive. Waiting for help. Waiting for a therapy to work. Waiting for healing. Waiting for good news. Waiting for the answers to our prayers.

    Or perhaps simply waiting for the seeds we’ve planted to break through the earth.

  • There Is Only One Me

    There Is Only One Me

    There is only one me.

    I say it all the time in my head when there’s just too much. I occasionally say it out loud when multiple people are talking to me at the same time.

    There is only one me. I can only be in one meeting at a time, in one place at a time, in one conversation at a time, at one kid activity at a time.

    There is only one me to process the plans and ideas and tests needed from the orthodontist and the dentists and the pediatricians and the special doctors and the guidance counselors and the therapists and the gymnastics coaches and the teachers and the tutors.

    There is only one me to make sure there’s breakfast and lunch and dinner and bread and milk and granola bars and yogurt and chips and brownies.

    There is only one me to monitor friends and social media usage and potential bad influences and Cadbury Egg intake and dresses that have gotten too short. Only one me to make sure the chorus outfit is clean on the right day.

    There is only one me to navigate the that’s unfair and the that’s mine accusations that all siblings of all ages for all time have shouted. There is only one me to say stop touching her or you didn’t ask permission to be in her room. There is only one me to set my jaw and say do not make me pull this car over.

    There is only one me to talk through bad dreams at 2 am. Only one me to provide reassurance, going to the bathroom with the door open and the light on so a kiddo having a hard day doesn’t feel like I’m too far away or not still listening to a detailed story.

    There is only one me to answer hard questions in the moment.

    There is only one me to pick up the pieces after the selfishness of others. Only one me to help them navigate all their emotions. Only one me to be the daily consistent force that cannot let them down. Only one me to be the one they can take everything out on, because I’m the safe one, and they can do that without fear of loss.

    There is only one me to put them first, in every way and in all things.

    There is only one me to kiss booboos and bandage scrapes. Only one me to hold hands while nurses do blood draws and scary new doctors do exams.

    There is only one me to check that everyone made it on the right bus at the right time, and made it home at the right time, or to a program or an activity or a game at the right time.

    There is only one me to make sure backpacks and binders have all the right papers signed and all the right homework in them.

    There is only one me to show them how to set boundaries and that sometimes decisions come with consequences.

    There is only one me to see the moments when they really need a boost of confidence and the encouragement to believe in themselves. Only one me to make sure I see it and they get it.

    There is only one me to talk to them about God and take them to church and show them the benefits and difficulties of a life lived based on core principles.

    There is only one me to teach them and show them that true happiness is found when we can live in such a way that we can be proud of ourselves, knowing we have integrity when no one is looking.

    There is only one me who can show them that when people let us down, which is inevitable, we can still be happy and have lives that we love.

    There is only one me after they go to sleep, working hard to reign in my horror and frustration that people drink, play, laugh, post selfies and talk about love and happiness while children spent the week at doctor appointments. When children see that hypocrisy and selfishness for themselves, there’s only one me to say I don’t have an explanation and it’s tone-deaf and it’s wrong.

    There is only one me to teach them that forgiveness benefits us, even if others don’t deserve it and even if it benefits them and their narrative.

    There is only one me responsible if I make the wrong call about everything from their health care to shirts that show midriff. Only one me to fret at the end of long days that I’m not doing a very good job at all.

    There is only one me. Only one me who sometimes gets stuck in a pity party. Only one me who sometimes gets caught up in a panic about getting it all done and the weight of it all.

    There is only one me who can give them a happy, healthy Momma.

    There is only one me, constantly thankful for Papa Ted and Grammy and Papa. Constantly thankful for my sister. Constantly thankful for my neighbors and friends who love my girls and have hugs and encouragement for them and me at just the right time.

    There is only one me thankful every day that I get to be the Mom of Ella and Audrey. Thankful even for days of extreme ups and downs with everything from doctor appointments to strawberry picking to silly shoe shopping to arguments in the car to cartwheels in Sams Club.

    The truth is, there has always been only one me. There is only one me, and I am more than enough. There is only one me, and I am human and make mistakes. There is only one me, and I will apologize and fix it when I do. There is only one me, and I got this.

    There is only one me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.