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7/9/2018 2 Comments little wingsthe past few weeks have been made up of me trying to master the art (as if there was such a thing) of closing up a season of life as i brave a new one. after about 21 years of living in the same house with all things familiar — from my nightstand with the flower stickers i decorated it with a decade ago to the wooden bench in the kitchen to dozens of pictures that blanket the fridge — i had to figure out a way to bring closure to a season of life that had been so, so generous to me. i wrestled with striking the balance between wading through nostalgic feelings as i sat on my green carpet & sifted through basically every letter i’ve kept since i was 8 (i have a few hoarder tendencies) & mentally moving on from them after i felt i paid them a courteous mind. i spent the weeks leading up to my move to colorado with learning how to find the appropriate grip on the past & its precious & painful memories without suffocating them but rather, holding them with a loose grip, giving them air to breathe, then letting them fly.
the night before i boarded the plane, i gave my niece a sweatshirt about ten sizes too big for her & sunglasses that she might never wear again other than when she walked out of my bedroom glowing & i kissed my nephew’s cheeks knowing they wouldn’t feel the same a few months from now & i hugged my sister goodbye & memorized her familiar embrace. i locked eyes with my dad’s bright blue ones a tad bit longer than usual & clenched my eyelids when my aunt gave me a third hug goodbye & when i hugged my mom goodnight, she told me it was time to “flap my little wings” as she made the motion with her hands & i let a few more tears run down my cheeks. little wings. what a beautiful thought. & with that saying tucked in my back pocket, i boarded the plane, all too giddy for the adventures & lessons & growth to come. & whether we’re moving or not, i’m realizing that we all need little wings for life. i’m convinced they don’t even need to be big ones — little ones will do just fine. we need little wings when we need just a little courage to get a little height out of our comfort zones so we can soar. cheesy, i know. but i think my mom is onto something. what if with every uncertainty we could grow brave instead of afraid, fueled by ambition instead of anxiety? what if little wings were all we needed to set a goal for today or reach out to a friend we haven’t talked to in years or make an anonymous donation to someone who needs it or invite someone who feels left behind over for a meal or do something — anything — that makes our soul feel alive? what if God looked down from his throne in heaven & saw millions of little wings that finally figured out what it takes to take flight, doing millions of small acts of kindness & becoming more & more like light? what if little wings were all we needed to wildly pursue our passions & create an absurd amount of beautiful things & live a life of ridiculous generosity? i don’t know much, but i know we were made to move far past what makes us feel comfortable. we were made to flap our little wings, muster up a little bit of courage, gain a little bit of height & soar into the places that make us feel a little bit dangerous & a lot more alive.
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6/14/2018 0 Comments permanent gracethere is
permanent grace stained on your worst mistakes when the whole of you ached that you gave in again. & there is permanent grace stained on your best days when you thought you had it all right. there is permanent grace stained underneath the clouds & inside hospital waiting rooms & all around summer days & behind bedroom doors where newborns are sung over & only God & His angels are there to hear it. there is permanent grace, stained on every single petal & inside every single breath & maybe the bravest thing we can do is believe that we are taken care of. believe that because of the cross when His blood & grace poured itself out on our record of debt, it stained it. permanent grace. how beautiful it is that all has been taken care of. 6/12/2018 1 Comment somersaults & space to belast saturday, i watched as my two-year-old niece somersaulted her way up the entire length of a large & crowded room to make it to her parents who were standing at the front of it. i watched as her legs came around & whipped the legs of a high school boy who laughed & stepped out of her way, creating space for her to keep on somersaulting. i watched others stare at her — some laughing & others smiling cautiously — & i watched as every person stepped back so she could continue in her wildly creative way, all the way up to the front of the room.
recently, this whole idea of “creating space” has been a phrase somewhat trapped inside my mind. i’m only now trying to put words & concrete ideas down on a doc because if i’m honest, i think that phrase has something real to it — something needed in our day, something of value, even wonder. a friend reminded me on the phone the other day that words create space. & i kept that phrase on repeat in my mind because i realized that more than anything, i want everyone’s spoken & written words to create space for others : space to process & space to stay silent, space to sob & space to laugh, space to share raw thoughts & space to speak wild dreams & space to be whatever someone needs it to be. we need to give each other the space to simply be, regardless of the state we come in because when we step back, we realize we’re all made of countless inconsistencies & in our inconsistencies, we are still loved, regardless. & maybe love’s goal is to create space. maybe this whole journey is about creating space for each other over & over again. because honestly, what do lose when we step back, open our arms & our homes, hold out our hands & a cup of coffee to someone — anyone — who needs some space to just be? to be — not to be told what to do, not to be held at arms length, not to be controlled, but simply to be, in all their inconsistencies & to be loved — still loved — regardless. so, in the midst of all the busyness, i say we create space for long pauses & deep breaths & heart aches & raw feelings & seeming inconveniences & soft tears & hard cries & wide smiles & loud interruptions. because i really think we’re all just somersaulting through our days, making our way, & hoping someone will pause to stare at our wild creativity, step back & create the space for us to live honest & free. 6/4/2018 2 Comments the point is to stayi get caught up in life’s details - the kind of details that don’t necessarily solve anything, or provide any answers. like, i couldn’t tell you what highway i’m on or what direction i’m headed, but i could tell you what i imagine the woman in the lane next to me is smiling about or about the shape of the branches that dangle over the potholes. i love memorizing details that have depth, that are echoes of a larger love, a larger story. like a a wide smile & a thumbs-up from the groom’s dad right before the wedding starts, or an elderly woman’s steady hand on her husband’s knee cap, or strangers passing each other in grocery aisles & smiling. i love memorizing the details that are crammed with various expressions of what it means to live because i’m learning that the point is to stay.
when i think of some of my favorite moments in life, the ones that shed layers of gold & grace, each moment includes someone who stayed. someone who chose to not pull away, someone who held my eyes in theirs for longer than i expected them to, someone who shielded their attention from the time, someone who asked more questions, someone who refused to turn when i broke. i want to be that someone. i want a world full of those someones. because the point is to stay & to choose to stay means to not look away from whoever is in front of us, regardless of how much it hurts to keep staring at the bruises & sifting through the mess & the chaos & the unfinished. it means to not pull away when someone says, “well, i don’t know, it’s a long story…” it means to ask questions, & then to ask more. it means to make the phone call. it means to tell people who they are becoming. it means to speak to them as the Father sees them. it means to seek out the ones left behind & engage them in tenderness. it means to give people the space to grow crooked & understand that it’s the only way to grow. it means to know with every square inch of our hearts that love transforms more than a set of rules. the point is to stay, with each other, for each other, like how the stars stay with the sky. how they shine brightest when it’s darkest. 4/30/2018 0 Comments out of tunesome days,
you feel like your life is a song out of tune - like it has a rhythm, but it’s off beat, & you’re trying your best to keep in step, but you feel like you’re doing something wrong, or like you are something wrong & you think God must have made a mistake when He wrote your song with the angels. it’s like your life is made up of a thousand notes threaded together to make a song but sometimes you wonder how your song could be this sad & this exciting & this surprising & this tiring all at the same time. some days, you feel in rhythm, like you are stepping to the right beat, like the whole of you is content & you are thankful for your song. other days, you feel out of rhythm, like your heartbeat is the only thing consistent so you keep your hand over it to remember there’s purpose because you do not know why God let your song sound like it does. you don’t know why pain preys or how to pray when your song skips & you struggle to find the grace & the wonder in a song out of tune. but every day, you tell yourself: keep stepping no matter the rhythm, keep loving no matter the tune because there may be someone watching who needs to remember what it’s like to dance to their song out of tune. 4/26/2018 0 Comments loose changegraduating in a few weeks has me stuck in whirlwind of emotions, the kind of whirlwind that catches most of us in it who are anticipating an unfamiliar season of change. coming to the end of four years in college has me trying to really pay attention to the things around me, things that i didn’t even know i appreciated — stupid & insanely ordinary things — like the salad bowls in the dining hall and the empty tables in a classroom. i’m finding that my gut reaction when i know there’s change coming is to reach out & grab everything i can, then hold it all tighter with whitened knuckles. in some ways, i think that can be a really good thing. there’s something about holding onto conversations & smiles & clinging to them tightly. but i think the other approach, one that is just as important, is to hold each moment’s gaze, let it sit in open hands, then let it go.
these days, everything is in overdrive: my senses, my excitement, my fear & my logic that is wildly inhibited when it comes to sorting out the future. i’d like to say i haven’t cried as much as expected, but that’s a lie. i’ve learned that all it takes is for my sister to ask me over the phone how i’m really doing, or a friend to hug me tighter than usual, or a professor pass me in the hallway & ask me how i’m finishing out, for the tears to make their debut somewhere behind closed doors. the other night i cried (again) this time in the car with my boyfriend — mostly tears that stemmed from fear & frustration. he listened as i told him frank how i don’t know where to put my these scary feelings about the uncertainty of the future, but i felt like i needed to seal them up in a container somewhere. i needed somewhere to freaking put them. i told him i don’t want them in the present because they poison my moments & i hate them here, but they also have to be somewhat dealt with & sifted through. what a balance that is to strike. what i really need is to stuff them in a ziploc bag, seal it, then throw the bag away. not much was resolved that night, i didn’t expect anything to be, besides him reassuring me that everything will be ok & making me laugh & i left the car determined to really enjoy the moments left in houghton, new york, whatever form they come in. i’m trying to collect moments like loose change & put some in my pocket to take out & reminisce for later & others i’m trying to hold their value in open hands the moment they come before letting them go, fully knowing the gift. i hate cliches but i’m gonna throw one out anyways: change is good. it really is. but change is also hard & there’s no pretty way to anticipate it, or endure it. but i’d rather it not look pretty, anyways. that was never my style. so, if you or a person you love is anticipating some season of change, i encourage you to build them up. gosh, i’m learning it takes a lifetime to build up a heart. don’t ever stop building up hearts. build up the ones around you until your hands are blistered & your voice is hoarse & your back aches from carrying their burdens. those are the moments worth collecting, worth putting in your pocket for later, & the ones worth letting go. 3/30/2018 2 Comments an easter reflectionif you & i sat down when i was six-years-old & you asked me about heaven, i probably would’ve told you that it lies among the stars. that if you squint your eyes & concentrate super hard, you might not only see the world slightly spinning behind the clouds, but you might see the angels soaring, too. i’d tell you that there will be no piano lessons in heaven & there will be no alligators & that i’ll probably have a retainer because my sister has one & that a crescent moon is actually an astronaut’s slide & heaven is just beyond it. that’s where the moon gets its light.
while my ideas on heaven have since grown longer legs & waded into deeper waters, much about it still remains a mystery to me. my knowledge of God is constantly unraveling in my mind, which is exciting most of the time, but also frustrating because He’s constantly evading my categories. i like to have complexities reduced into simple answers & short lists, so to live in the tension of always having more questions about who He is is often uncomfortable. this is just a long-winded way of admitting that i struggle with not having all the answers & my view of God is often based more on my feelings than on truth. sometimes i see God as more like an angry dictator who demands more & more & more from me & throws up His holy hands in divine exasperation when i doubt Him, or when i fall for the same temptation one thousand times over. these thoughts & more stifle me & leave me some mornings waking up with nagging anxiety & pestering guilt. “i think God just wants you to sit still for a second so He can hug you,” a friend told me after i exposed my thoughts to her. she knows me well. while our ideas about God will always remain unfinished, because of the cross & the resurrection there are a few things about Him we can know for sure. i imagine we’ll get to heaven & He’ll embrace us, tell us that we’re home & while we walk with Him weightless, all our earthly burdens & fears & questions evaporated in absolute perfection, He’ll tell us the truth about who we were to Him while we lived. He’ll tell us that there was never a moment we were not delighted in, never a moment where we escaped His loving gaze. He’ll tell us there was never a moment He turned His back away from us, or grew tired of our prayers, or grew frustrated by our recurring questions. He’ll tell us He never once simply tolerated us. He’ll tell us that even during the seasons we ripped our hand out of His & told Him we don’t need His help, He never loved us less. He’ll tell us that the cross made all that possible & that the resurrection is why we celebrate. whatever season we find ourselves this easter weekend, i hope we can revel in the mystery of the cross & the resurrection & rest knowing that because of them, He could not love us any more, nor any less than He does in this moment & we’ll know this to be certain when we find the place that lies past the astronaut’s slide & among the stars & stay there forever. 3/27/2018 0 Comments empathy & its formit’s amazing what our eyes pick up when we pay attention to the people around us. it was a wake up call for me when my professor said to my class the other day, “we need to take care of each other.” i took that as, “i need to start paying attention.”
so, i dug out a small & simple grid-lined notebook to carry around, to write observations in. it’s sort of like scribbling down prayers on a smooth surface & hoping my incoherent thoughts & phrases make their way up to God’s throne. by making a conscious effort to pay closer attention to the people around me, i started to pick up on things my mind would’ve easily blown past, before. i watched how his hands pressed against the metal door frame as he leaned his head over top of them & shared about a little girl, unborn, yet already adored, who is fighting for her life in her mother’s womb. then i saw her fingers tighten their grip on the handle of her coffee mug when she shared more details about her and her sister’s relationship. & then i watched a group of girls wait their turn to embrace their friend who leaned against the wall, defeated. empathy is a word that has recently been on the forefront of my mind. i’ve been trying to give it form, trying to imagine what it would look like if it was given flesh. because in order to take care of each other, we need to empathize with one another. we need empathy to leave it’s arms constantly outstretched, ready at any time to embrace. we need our hearts willing to be tied to the person next to us by thick strands of total loyalty & unswerving love, so that when the weight of grief is thrown on the heart yours is chained to & it buckles then sinks, yours sinks, too. we need the courage to say to each other, “in this very moment, you don’t have to be more than you are. all that you are is wholeheartedly enough.” life is too short, too cruel, for us to spend it unaware & disengaged. we need to be with each other, make room for each other, sit in blank spaces & empty silences with each other, & let our joy fill small & large moments with each other. we need to remember that real love is never convenient, that empathy is never cheap & that the most worthy pursuit embodies itself this way, saying, “regardless of where your spirit rests, or soars, or sighs, or grieves, or sings, i wanna be there, too.” maybe your mind is crammed with dreams dressed as soldiers with courage dripping off their swords. maybe your hands are holding fire, just waiting for the right time. maybe your feet wander far into greener pasture during what you call your in-between moments. maybe with all this talk around living a life un-wasted & creating world change & leaving a legacy, you’ve forgotten what that actually means.
turns out, becoming a world changer might be closer than you think. this is you at your best: walking into a room unannounced, bending low to lock eyes with a one-year-old, pausing to celebrate His kindness in a home-cooked meal, telling her how proud you are, leaving a generous tip, paying attention to the curve in his smile, closing your laptop, kissing his hand, bringing home her favorite candy, sealing an envelope with a handwritten letter, asking more questions, telling her out loud what you know she’s good at, smiling at the stranger you pass on the sidewalk, re-learning why it is he smiles so big when that song comes on, & letting a day’s brevity wake you up inside. so, on your quest to change the world, remember that becoming a world changer isn’t always followed by a loud applause or surrounded by a cheering crowd but it’s glory is in the most unlikely places. world change happens in the places where you give again & again & again & when your pride cries out for a break, you only give more. world change happens when you drop every weight of guilt & grudge & stereotype & selfish motive that only slows you down & for the sake of your best life, you keep on loving. to all the wannabe world changers: step off the stage & pick up the remains of the wisdom left by the ones who changed your world for the better & move forward on their shoulders, all the while leaving behind a trail of moments crowned with faithfulness. 2/20/2018 0 Comments breathlessthere are no short-cuts through life,
no re-routes around the mess, no detours that avoid the belt beatings of a broken world that lash on the small of your back, leaving scars in the shape of sacrifice, the proof that you really lived. there are no five easy steps to become the person you dream one day you’ll be, no quick formula to follow that makes you the person you’ve always wanted to become. the other day i sat down with a woman, the kind i hope one day i’ll be. i listened to her speak in an octave blended with the rarest humility & an unbridled passion when she spoke about the ones she’s loved, how she’s loved them. she told me that ever since God took them home, she’s struggled to find where she belongs. i realize that she’s only known the worth of sacrifice & the potency of loving whole-heartedly because she’s known the worst of grief. then i watched her eyes light & lift when she told me she feels like a child again when she gives herself over to learning with a bunch of college students. i’m convinced she’s held up with wings that are only given to the ones that swell with laughter & with hope after they’ve sat in the cruelty of absence. from her, i've learned that when you leave your soul’s fingerprint on each life around you, there’s no short-cut to do it well. instead, when you leave your soul’s fingerprint on each life around you, the only way to do it well is to drench yourself in the pool of their inked beauty of past grief & precious dreams & present anguish & childhood memories & in the more than you ever knew there was to them, and then pressing in until the love that wells in your soul bleeds out onto them in a thousand small moments. after all, these moments are the sum of our lives. so the person you dream of becoming? the person i’ve always wanted to become? maybe it starts with giving our full attention to a five-year-old, & asking her what the best part of her day was. maybe it starts with holding our tongue or putting our phones down or setting aside a few minutes to phone a random friend or throwing off the senseless weight of a grudge, or of guilt or prizing a few moments of silence in our morning minutes & asking the King of glory: how can I love You more today? because real love takes no short-cuts around the mess, but rather, real love presses in, in a thousand small moments. & when we do, we’ll reach eternity breathless as the kind of people we've always dreamed of becoming. |
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