Brave, Anyway

Tag: work in progress

  • 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!
  • Fear and Wrinkles

    Fear and Wrinkles

    I spent the first 20 years of my adult life battling fear of one sort or another. What if this, what if that? How can this or that possibly work out? What am I going to do?

    Born in the seventies, my childhood fears were pretty standard for the time: dolls having secret lives as killers, will I have a date for prom, and the Cold War ending in nuclear war. (Whoever designed the drills where kids hid under desks when missiles were on their way to the east coast clearly did not understand science or psychology.)

    As the teen years turned into the adult years fears become a little more “rational.” At least adult fears were about things with some sort of likelihood of happening. By then I knew my face wasn’t going to peel off because of Poltergeists, so fears became about things like loss or failure or physical harm.

    For a while in my early adult years I was irrationally afraid to fly, which was inconvenient and annoying because I flew with some regularity. A couple of scary flights (one when even the flight attendant was praying!) combined with 9/11 had me convinced that I would be on a plane that Karen Black had to save or that careened into the Potomac River.

    By the time something actually scary happened, I was exhausted from dealing with stupid things and found myself in a real struggle to maintain confidence in God and myself. Three things specifically changed the way I think about fears and the way I react when I feel fearful:

    (1) The prayers of others for me.

    (2) Battlefield of the Mind by Joyce Meyer

    (3) Revelations about peace.

    I’ve probably read two dozen books about battling fear. I’ve read every scripture about fear. And I’ve heard it all from people and gurus: “if you give fear an inch in one area it’ll take a foot in that and ten others,” “you have to fight fear with faith,” and even “you’re a Christian who knows where she’s going so you have nothing to fear in terms of death.” (Side note: never, ever say the word death to a person telling you they have fear.)

    Those things are all true, but the two things that finally changed my life as it relates to fear are actually about peace. One of the last things Jesus said was that He was leaving us His peace (John 14) – He understood that fear is a part of the world we live in and He knew that peace is one of the things we’d need the most. And secondly, the words of Moses in Exodus: “The Lord shall fight for you and you shall hold on to your peace.”

    He left me peace and it’s my job to not let it go.

    Or, I have peace and I just need to keep hold of it.

    I loathe fear. It leads to bad decisions, stolen time, stolen happiness, failed businesses, broken relationships, goals not reached, and on and on and on. Life wasted. Lives wasted.

    I cannot afford to live in fear any more, regardless of the news or of viruses or of wars or of presidents or of dictators or of sickness or of disappointment. I have to do what I can do – pray, donate, use my voice, wear a mask – and relinquish the rest. I have to hold on to my peace. And maybe if I do that and others do, too, we’ll even be able to help spread some peace.

    I learned this week that some people actually fear wrinkles and aging! So many people, that the fears have names: gerascophobia and rhytiphobia. My first reaction was how ridiculously vain and silly. But they’re really no more silly than the fears I had – all fears are a distraction that prevent us from really living.

    I sometimes wonder where we’d be or what I could have accomplished if I had learned my lesson about focusing on peace instead of fear sooner. Maybe I’d have a lot fewer wrinkles! But those wrinkles are also my reminder that I have laughed way more than I’ve scrunched my face in anger or fear, and that I’ve smiled way more than I’ve frowned.

    About to start a theme park ride, way outside my comfort zone, so I documented what I briefly thought might be the last ever photo of me. More wrinkles coming soon!
  • Promise

    Promise

    A year ago at about this time I was mulling over what my word for 2021 would be. The word that kept coming to mind was promise, but I dismissed it over and over again. In the middle of a pandemic with virtual school, not seeing anyone in person at Christmas, and vaccine rollout looking shaky, I wasn’t feeling the word promise.

    On New Year’s Eve I thought that maybe my word would come to me in the first few weeks of the new year. And I even thought that maybe every year didn’t need a word and maybe 2021 just wouldn’t have one.

    But then all throughout this year, things that I’ve been talking to God about for a very long time, things that have been on my heart but I’ve never spoken out loud, even some things that were important to me at a time but I’d since forgotten about have started to happen or fall into place. And each time, the word promise has come back to me and lingered in my thoughts.

    And I realized something this year…that I had stopped actively believing in promises. It wasn’t a decision I made at any point. It just sort of happened over time. As life happened, I guess. I still believed that prayers had power and that God answered prayers, but I didn’t necessarily expect promises to be fulfilled.

    So I started researching God’s promises. As it turns out there are dozens and dozens of them, and I even pretty regularly read and rely on them – I just haven’t been thinking of them as promises.

    * There is a plan for my life. Ephesians 2:10 and Jeremiah 29:11

    * I am filled with strength and courage even when/if I don’t feel like it. 2 Timothy 1:7

    * I can do hard things. Isaiah 40:29

    * I can follow my gut and trust my gut because God provides discernment. James 1:5

    * My children may have doubts and bad days, but they are always, always going to be children of God and know God. Acts 16:31

    * When I really mess up, God loves me anyway and nothing will change that. Romans 8

    * I always have a safe place, somewhere to hide. Psalm 5

    * Nothing that happens to me or around me is ever a surprise to a God, so He is not unprepared which means I am not unprepared. Psalm 139

    * God knows what I need before I ask and sometimes even before I know, and He’s got it. Isaiah 65:24

    * Literally even His name is a promise – Emmanuel means God with us and his name is a reminder of His constant presence as I walk through each day.

    In the last few years I’ve talked to God about everything from helping me fulfill my promise to get Ella a car, to living without fear, to providing the perfect helpers for the girls, to healing for hearts and bodies. In the last 12 months, He’s delivered over and over and over again – even with small desires like finding a beloved lost ring. He also prepared people and hearts and things just in time before some tough stuff. There are still things I pray about each day, several times a day, that have not yet happened – and my type A need-to-see-data-and-progress self is not great at waiting or with letting someone else handle it. I want to DO all the things all the time because why do things take so long sometimes??? But the truth is I’m not capable of the biggies, and God is batting a thousand.

    I’ve decided my word for 2021 was actually promise, and I even came across a new (to me) promise in words that I’ve read many times before but suddenly read in a new way. In the days leading up to Jesus’ birth, two women who dared to believe in miracles and promises got together to encourage one another. One of the things Elizabeth said to Mary is “Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord would fulfill His promises to her.” Luke 1:45

    These cloths with our prayers for the world and community will fill the manger in our church’s nativity.

  • 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.

  • 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.