Packin' Courage, Beatin' Giants, and High Fivin'

"Giants are not as strong as they seem and sometimes the shepherd boy has a sling in his pocket." Malcolm Gladwell

Confession: I sit in my car, in my driveway, and listen to sermons and Ted Talks. It's a way of isolation from my ADD self.

This morning I dropped the beloveds off at school and cued up Malcolm Gladwell's Ted Talk on his new book "David and Goliath: Underdogs, Misfits, and the Art of Battling Giants." (How can you NOT want to read this book with a title like that?)

I was captivated.

Malcolm beautifully expounds on research into the age old Biblical story of David and Goliath with facts and theories that I never pictured nor imagined. He presents us with this thought: Perhaps we've interpreted this story incorrectly. By viewing David as an underdog and Goliath as a victor, maybe, just maybe we've had it all wrong. What if Goliath was impaired and David had the advantage? What if Goliath just LOOKED looming and horrifying? What if David truly had the upper hand with one single stone and sling?

You guys know I love it.

I am forever in favor of the underdog. The yearling. The kid in the corner of the playground. Just last night I lay into the wee hours considering my career path, "Do I really want to go into Oncology? Is there a clinic that I can specialize in AIDS work? I really want to touch people no one wants to touch." Thus I loved the presentation that Giants are not really as strong as we believe them to be and furthermore us little peons fighting with a stick and a sling have more going for us than a dream and a suicidal courageousness.

Obviously, God had David. He ordained the steps of this shepherd boy to fight and win. He walked him straight into a war zone, equipped him with hardly anything, then showed He was still God by allowing him to kill the bully. But what else was God imparting? What did he really want all of us underdogs to learn?

I believe it was this nugget:

We are NOT AS WEAK AS WE BELIEVE OURSELVES TO BE.

Through the preacher Malcolm Gladwell this morning :-), I realized God was showing that we are far more equipped than we give ourselves and Him credit for.

Fighting the giants in our lives can seem daunting (shout out to Christine Caine's book "Undaunted") like an uphill trek against Machu Picchu with no acclimation and no beef jerky. But in reality this is not so. As I delve deeper and deeper into aging (what choice do I have) and vulnerability practice, I find that daring greatly and being a wholehearted person are difficult, embarrassing to my pride, and downright terrifying but not something that I stand totally unequipped for.

Here's the deal: All of us have a slingshot in our pocket. We just don't take it out against the giants. Due to fear, embarrassment about going against cultural norm, or just plain apathy, we sit on the sidelines playing with our harps (shout out to David) and refuse to fight for our own lives. Shame on us.

Don't get me wrong, Giant fighting is about as fun as a root canal sans the gas. Some days it seems like running a marathon with not one day of training. Battling for what you want and victory is fierce, lonely at times, exhausting, and requires oodles and oodles of fortitude and staying power. But when the day comes that you leave the corner of the playground, walk up that hill, and pull out what you've got (aka your slingshot), take aim and fire at your giant...you realize you aren't as big of an underdog as you thought you were.

Because you just knocked that bully to the ground. With hardly any weaponry except that big ol' pack of courage and trust on your back.

Once you've fought and won...you want to do it again. You want to dwell in the arena of courageous living. The corner of the playground no longer holds a spot for you. You've outgrown that space.

Here's what I propose: Today we all gear up together and begin to walk out of the corner. Put on our courage packs, talk to our battle trainer while he sticks our slingshot in our pocket, and begin walking. It might take us a little while to acclimate to the higher altitudes that living wholeheartedly requires, but we'll be moving. Together. Once we get to the top, we'll all yell, hoot and holler for one another as we pull out our slingshots and knock our giants to the ground. Then collectively, we'll run over and take a look at what we've been afraid of for so long and realize: He was so much less intelligent, capable, and menacing that we dreamed him to be.

Then we'll all high five, pick up our stones, and start the next trek. Together. As a group of misfit underdogs determined to win.

Grace and Peace Fighters,

A ~

What I've learned after not really dating for 3 years...

Yesterday I found myself drifting off mentally in Microbiology and the thought struck me "October will mark 3 years since your second divorce. You have officially not dated in 3 years." I'm not sure why that struck me so monumental at the time but it really did. I sat with it on the 30 minute ride home and thought over the last three years. Where I am. What I've learned. Where I'm headed.

I met my first husband at my 15th birthday party and have no shame in saying He was the love of my life. I fell madly for him and we dated off and on till I married him at 22. I adored him. We got each other. Unfortunately, He carries deep wounds and brokenness that he could not overcome during our union and I decided it best that I raise the girls solo in 2006. We were married 8 years and together 15. I love him still in a platonic, compassionate way. Healing is a beautiful thing.

Stayed solo till 2008.

I met my second husband through our mutual best friends and thought he would be my prince charming. Little did I know, that no one can be prince charming. We all have brokenness, body odor, and flaws. I quickly realized during our 18 month union that we weren't invested on the same levels and sought counsel from multiple sources. Turning point came and again I was solo.

We divorced October 2010.

I'm giving you the clean adult rated versions. Two sides. No one wins.

I decided when the second divorce occurred that it was a wake up call to be alone for a while, chill out and find other avenues of fun, fulfillment, and joy. I also decided to uproot my whole life, move from Dallas and a life I loved, to Arkansas to start over pursuing a new career. When I left Dallas, I was casually dating 3 men and couldn't care less about it. Revelation: I was no more fulfilled with 3 attachments than with none.

January came and I moved to Arkansas. With the exception of a few minor dalliance' here and there, I've not dated. I've not pursued invites. I've warded off friend hook ups.

3 years.

What have I learned and where am I at in a culture that stresses relationships, sex, and codependency?

1. I'm OK. I was mortified when the second divorce took place. All my bets were on that one and when it imploded no one was more shocked and disoriented than myself. I was filled with a huge sense of shame. I was raised and truly believe in one man one woman for a lifetime. One divorce was a blow, two was death. But what I realized throughout the last three years is that everything I ever feared on a grand scale happened to me. And I'm alive. I'm great. I'm solid. My faith is stronger than ever. I'm a fighter. I'm a survivor. I'm loved. Sometimes looking our greatest fears square in the eye and being required to live through them sets us free. When you have nothing left, there is no anxiety over what might destroy you. I'm OK.

2. God really is enough. I don't hesitate to say I lost myself in both marriages. I sacrificed my health, my sanity, and my own opinions to codependency and a desire to have a "family". It didn't work. In the effort to be the perfect wife, I became a wreck. I lost touch with my goals and became a stepford wife the second time. It was awful and lonely. I've learned that the only way to be truly non-codependent is to be completely God-dependent. I wake up in the morning and my first thought is "Get to the couch and dive in." (It's my devotion spot) When things go haywire, I don't think anymore who can I call for support. I call God. In this process, I've learned that I can live in the woods raising two little women alone and be completely fulfilled and not lonely. Family is not defined by one woman, one man, and 2.5 kids. It's defined by love, peace, and contentment. It's completely weird and people don't get it but it's true. Not to say I don't have moments, but in general terms, He fills me. I have no needs.

3. You really can live without sex and not crumble up and die. I love sex as much as the next person. Believe me. However, I made a commitment to myself that sex would not impede my judgement to stay out of bad relationships. I really believe not having sex before marriage is the way to go. I think it honors God and myself. It really is quite horrible though. All these people around you asking "HOW DO YOU GO WITHOUT SEX?" Every movie, TV show, book throwing you curve balls about the joys of sex every other second. It's rough. But you know what is more rough? Lying in bed next to someone that you've just given your body (and in my opinion soul) over to and feeling like the loneliest person in the world. Not cool. Devastating. Remembering how that felt strengthens my resolve. I'd rather be sexless than feel worthless and used.

4. Life is not "less than" because you do not have a romantic partner. Dude...the world is so awesome. There are some incredibly amazing people out there just dying to hang out with you. Dying to share their stories and their time with you. YOU DON'T HAVE TO HAVE A PARTNER TO ENJOY YOUR LIFE TO THE FULLEST.  I am so fulfilled and loved by my friendships and non-romantic relationships. Love does not have to be romantic. Love comes in many forms. It is truly possible to live feeling completely accepted and loved while LIVING alone. It's also truly possible to live with a partner, sitting on the couch with them at night, and FEEL completely alone. I know. I've done both.

5. It is entirely possible to live life on your own terms. When I began this journey, I had much work to do in regards to relegating my "coolness factor" to my situation. I struggled with feeling "less cool" "less hip" because I didn't hang out with single hot men and I hung out in my house reading like a fean and studying. But guess what happened? I became a nurse. My vocabulary and knowledge increased. My worth felt secured. My children blossomed from routine and home life. I finally have come around to the fact that what culture dictates as necessary for "coolness" doesn't apply to me. I call my own shots and listen to the voice of God for the next step. That's pretty dang cool in my opinion. I don't need anyone else to validate me anymore. My decisions and what they have led me into speak for themselves.

6. This season doesn't mean I'll never fall in love again. I'm not a man hater by any means. I know a lot of really incredible ones. They love their wives and children in ways that astound me and make me love them even more. I just haven't partnered with one of these types yet. ;-) Emerson said this "We must be our own before we can be another's." I'm not sure until now that I ever truly belonged to myself. This legality most assuredly hindered my choices. I was looking for completion. Acceptance. Validation. What I didn't realize is no one can fill those areas but God and me. Now that I'm recovering from those areas and belong to myself, I'm not going to shut the door that I won't ever date again. I'm also not going to shut the door that I indeed might be alone for quite a while. You just never know. But here's what I do know: Either way, I'll be great.

Grace n Peace,

A ~

Believing Over Feelings and other Un-Fun Stuff do to in a Desert

Isaiah 49:15-18

I love vocabulary. Words thrill me. Good vocabulary is to me what fine wine is to others. I love reading books that require me to utilize a dictionary. (or Google)

I guess it stands to reason that as I journey through dark nights of the soul I find solace in words. Not just words from mere mortals as myself but divine words...words that tell me "If He loved them enough to do that...then maybe I can be next..."

Words that say "I breathed life into those dry bones...I can certainly breathe into yours..."

Humanity has also deposited into my weary wanderings. I read a quote by blogger and soon to be author Preston Yancey (I'll probably misquote, sorry Preston) that basically said "Books reminded me of God when I couldn't feel Him."Amen.

Maybe I'm the only one tired.

Maybe I'm the only dying for more than what I'm in currently but know that I have a while longer to sojourn in this place.

Maybe I'm the only one bored at times and completely overwhelmed at others.

Maybe I'm the only one walking through a dry dustbowl of a season.

And maybe I'm not. Maybe you're out there. Maybe you're reading and are also choosing believing over feeling.

I just thought you might want to know: You're not alone.

I'm reading too.

I'm believing instead of feeling too.

I'm breathing through a hankerchief in the driest freakin desert ever. But I'm also encouraged.

Because as I read the words of the prophets and God...and I read Christine Caine, Tullian Tchividjian, and countless others...I realize I'm not alone.

Everyone travels through their own crappy sandstorm...

And at some point...you see something that looks like a mirage in the distance...only to find you've crossed over into refreshment and beauty...

Hang on friends...the pool is coming...I don't feel the waters yet...but I believe I see them just over that sand dune...

Grace n Peace,

A ~

I'm about to dance the Behayseus out of life...

It's a farce really...this whole "stay in the moment and it won't pass you by" movement.

It's passed and is passing me by.

The girl. The big one. She's just that: Big.

I'm frightened by it. Reminded that my time is running out. I actually shuddered about it today.

Shuddered.

When I breathed her in after picking up a bigger, more self attuned, more *shudder mature girl at camp...I shuddered.

She didn't see and I didn't breathe a word because kids are like dogs don't you know...they smell anxiety and fear...so I kept sipping my Starbucks really coolly...

But. I shuddered.

I looked at the long limbs sprawled sleeping in the passenger seat and I swear if she would have asked for an albino west Parisian Rhino I would have moved Heaven and Europe to get it for her.

I find aging to be enthralling. Liberating. Exciting. Scary as hell.

Because as my children grow...I'm faced with the age old adage that I'm indeed growing with them. I'm faced with the indisputable fact that while I am quite the worker towards goals, it is only true and fair that I recognize there will be some that I'll never have the time to meet.

For a go getter...that's scary.

I have a petulant persistent fear that my very best of comrades know about: I'm afraid of ending up in a boring, sameness life.

Aging into the crazy cat lady that never reaches other lands and never holds hands and never looks upon anything other than her yard and library books.

However, It struck me today that I'll probably be so dang busy living that I'll look up and be on my way to Jesus before I figure out my life is over.

I certainly hope so.

I stay reminded that life is what we make it. Life is what we focus on.

Life is finitely impossible to predict, plan or make promises to...We must follow it's lead but certainly are invited to dance along.

Waltzing away, as Mary Oliver so eloquently puts it, "A bride married to amazement"...

Realizing we're never quite in control...but we're also never alone. That's the beauty of the dance.

Forever intertwined, we waltz with our finiteness...with our fallibility...with our eternal selves...

This. This is what makes the waltz of life so incredibly appealing. If the music never died would we appreciate it? If the leader never threatened to end the dance and choose another partner, would we realize how wonderful the steps He floats and dips us through truly are?

I think not.

I choose to believe it's the beautiful slow let down of life that makes it most beautiful. The knowing that we're all headed for a supreme destination and our bodies will all ultimately forsake us.

(Even the really toned, tanned ones. I digress.)

Because it's in the moments where I feel a tug of nostalgia, that I am reminded to savor the moments of life. To listen a little closer to my Daddy's words...to hug my mom before I leave...to call my brother back and listen to his laugh...to cry in sweet communion with my best friend over depths shared while 5 children come undone behind us...to remember her in THIS moment at THIS height and THIS gangly age...

THESE moments...THESE snapshots will be the encapsulation of my existence on this planet...THIS is what I will have fought for...worked for...dreamed after...and I want to remember...I want it to be worth it...I want it all to have mattered...if only to me and one long limbed growing girl and her beautiful dirty sidekick of a sis...

That could never be boring and sameness. Boom. Take that life.

 

Grace n Peace,

A ~

lest you think my life is all sunshine...

I am writing this strictly because I want you mama's...ladies...women...to know you're not alone. Those of you that converse with me and talk about how positive I am...I wanted you to know...

I fell the last two weeks.

Bad.

I lost my shine. I lost my way. I fell.

I fell into a big black hole.

I screamed at my kids. I sat in the car long after it was turned off and stared out. I ate dill pickle chips and candy for lunch. 

I have injustices in my life just like you all. Real injustices that tear at the threads of my heart and are quite unfair.

Injustices that make people say "Oh...honey...I'm so sorry. It's going to get better." (which I hate and appreciate all at the same time...because it affronts my pride and what I know...it might not "get better" in ways others think.)

But with all this...I also won.

I'd gotten so used to being on top. So used to being "together". So used to being a "teachable" mom to my kids and avoiding conflict. I was riding high.

Then out of nowhere I got knocked off my invisible top and had to decide what to do in the lowlands. It took me a couple of weeks. But I decided.

Worship.

My circumstances and response to them brought me once again to the altar. They brought me to my own human frailty and the ability to fall into despair, whining, and self pity at any given moment...

And as Kyle Idleman says "Whining in many ways, is the opposite of worshiping the Lord." Aha.

Whining is not my style. My kids will tell you their kooky mom screams out at the curb "Be shiny! Not whiny!" And honestly I didn't really whine the last two weeks (except to my dearest...you know who you are) outwardly...

That's because I'm a cave dweller...I burrow...I don't answer the phone...I ignore life and hide when I'm verging on not good things...so you'll never know I struggle...

But one cannot burrow from God.

I was whining in head prayers...my thoughts...I allowed myself a few days to wallow...then I just kept doing what I know to do.

I stopped screaming.

I ran.

I ate well.

I engaged.

And finally it happened. He broke through and I heard him loud and clear: Worship Me.

Yes. It's unfair.

Yes. Your load is heavy.

Yes. It's not what you expected.

Yes. You don't know how to make it all happen.

Yes. I am here.

Yes. This is holy ground.

Yes. I will be with you to till the end.

Yes. You ARE that positive, loving woman.

Yes. It's just a day. Get up. Worship.

As simple as that...He reminded me again that it all comes down to one principle in this life: Live your life in worship to Him. 

No other gods...including self-pity...before Him. 

He will take care of the rest. 

You will live in plenty even if you have less than what others deem enough. 

Worship.

He is good. All the time He is good.

So...for those of you who ask me how I do it...I don't.

I cling. He does it. 

And on occasion...I fall flat like a whining brat...and I learn all over again...

How to stand on shaky legs supported by the Savior...

Worship. 

Grace n Peace,

A ~

Ode to Groceries

...I used to dream...while in my parent's house...of buying my own groceries again...
plump, juicy tomatoes...rich from the garden...at the local farmers market...
I thought to myself...if I can just have that...I would be filled...
...my cupboards...though filled by budget and strings...house my groceries...
fresh, whole foods...ripe from the season...groceries...
I almost missed the blessing moment...the minute where I realize fruition...
...but then dish water and suds struck a cord...and I glanced about...with wet hands...
I have my own groceries...
And I am thankful.

Mundane Makes Me (Raw version)

(Disclaimer; I'm writing this more for myself than anyone else as a remembrance...and I'm coming off 36 hours of work and exhaustion is an understatement. Not editing. Just raw.)

God...you amaze me. I often think you will show me great visions of your plan in burning bushes and relevant prophets...then you choose an invalid. Even as I type this I cannot help but weep.

I had a moment that will forever change me. Unexpected. After the most horrific day; moment. I didn't see it coming...it was in a dark nursing hall room with someone the world would say has nothing to offer me but time...and I was forever changed.
I had lost my cool with a friend earlier...I had been standing for 12 hours...I thought I might lose my mind...and still it happened. That moment.
Spirit connection...as I squatted down and listened to the spirituals with Him...our hearts became one...right in the middle of my med pass...spirit communing with spirit...we listened...we shared...and He said "I knew we were special...I couldn't figure out why...now I know...Jesus...I can tell you really love Him..." My heart. I cried. Looked him in the eye and cried. We were encouraged. We made a vow to pray for another's struggles every day. It was Spirit. It was Divine. It could have been missed.
I'm still crying. My precious friend. Incapacitated yet he poured into me and I Him. I was changed. I was infused with Holy Calling...to the small...those deemed "palliative" not "purposeful"...those the world says "keep comfortable"not "what can they offer"...
I was humbled. Torn and shredded in the most beautiful way. Reminded of my prayers whispered to be Him in the world...and an Aha...that whole "I want to make a difference thing" becomes real when I'm faced with the brutal question "Do you?" Because you might end up in a nursing home on your feet weekend after weekend with this man for 32 hours for that one moment...do you really want to make a difference? Is the hard work, exhaustion, frustration, sacrifice really worth it like you say it is?  I've been educated in the last 3 years...that the moments I envisioned the great prophets of old and the new trailblazers of the present, have spoken of are minuscule in terms of the work and mundane behind them. Oh I'm sure there are those who live one exciting tale to the next (God knows with my ADD self I'd love to be one of them) but the majority of us find His moments between long pockets of waiting, walking, and wishing for more. My aha taught me that there IS calling in this season. I was filled with blessed assurance and fed deeply in soul ravines that threatened to run dry from lack of rain. I must put in the work...I must not miss the mundane...the mundane makes me. Centers me. Sometimes threatens me. But produces me.
If He chooses this path for me forever (and honestly I hope He doesn't), I'll walk it every day like I did yesterday...praying for strength to rise above and shine on those I can, remembering Jesus' words and actions on earth...He walked the mundane...gave well past his wall of exhaustion...and often sat with those the world deemed "gone"...Yet we celebrate His life as so exciting...could it be that Jesus had many mundane moments looking from the outside in? Could it be his feet and legs could barely move after walking and standing and teaching? Could it be he wanted bigger, more exciting things in that desert than starving for 40 days and just resisting the devil? Did Jesus have to live in the mundane too and learn to let it produce Him? Have we possibly, just possibly over excited the days of Jesus and forgotten that He was just a man? And He too dealt with keeping the heart of God in an earthen, limited body and had to relegate that with his dreams for greater every day? Have we underestimated the power of the stories we DON'T read in the New Testament...the ones where Jesus went to bed tired and got up more tired...yet got up anyway...and went about the daily tasks of life? Jesus knows my heart and how it longs to travel Africa and do those things our culture deems magical...yet I'm quite sure when I arrive...more mundane would be there to greet me...He also knows my heart in the mundane because He walked it...on tired, swollen feet He also walked it...and He experienced miracles,   unexpected highs, and forever changing moments. But in between all those things...there had to have been mundane. And He did it. Choosing fruit off trees rather than meat at the wealthy friends table...knowing He had something so priceless within but choosing to allow that priceless God to present however He deemed fit...with field or fancy table...with prostitute and tax collector...liberal and pharisee...invalid and possessed...One. Mundane Act after Another. 
And so I will, for the moments sake, trust the mundane in my life. Because in that perspective, the mundane becomes holy. I want to be holy.