When I did this.
5.07.2008
5.06.2008
Ice Cream
I was leading preschool worship on Sunday and I heard a little squeaking noise. I looked around and realized that a little boy named Nolan had the hiccups. So I asked him, and he confirmed that he had the hiccups. "Nolan," I said, "How ever will you get rid of the hiccups?" Nolan looked off to the side for a moment and then said, "Ice Cream". "Nolan, but what if you get them again?" I asked. "More ice cream" he replied.
I think I want to adopt this policy.
I think I want to adopt this policy.
5.05.2008
we are all much more fragile then we would like to believe
Fragile: easily broken, shattered, or damaged; delicate; brittle; frail
I went downtown to a homeless shelter on Saturday and was creamed in a game of euchre, and a game of spades. Then Donna walked in. I met Donna a little over a month ago, back when it was still pretty cold. She came in Saturday wearing a huge oversize yellow fleece, which also happened to be soaking wet from the rain. As she pulled it over her head I noticed that for a top she was wearing a black tank top, and a mans suit vest. She was so thin and pale. I didn't know a lot about Donna, other then that her mom taught her to smoke and she has seizure disorders. Saturday I heard about how she was attacked by a man that used to be her boyfriend on the street, she had the wound, hidden by a bandage, on her hand to prove it.
It's easy to see physical frailty in people, physical brokenness. But how often do we take those moments, the pregnant ones right before we say something that can't be taken back, to think about what we're saying. How often do we cut people, or even ourselves with our sharp tongues? With one foul swoop, we're shattered, we've shattered others.
It's so not worth it. The damage that we enact in those moments cannot easily be fixed, words are not easily unspoken.
Our wounds are not easily fixed with a bandage. Long ago have we passed the age when our hurt is quickly forgotten by the kiss of a parent.
We are all much more fragile then we would like to believe. We strut through life as if we are unfazed by the hits, by the unmet expectations. We like to believe that if we can only get up one more time it will somehow all be better. I believe that. Even on the worst days, I get up again and again because there is hope that it will be better. I have hope.
We can be the people that hold our hands out and help other people up. Whether their wounds are physical, emotional, or psychological we can be the one that bandages their fragility in hope, kindness, love, and healing. The funniest thing I've found about hope, is that when you give it to other people, you find it for yourself.
So after Donna had removed the wet yellow fleece, she stood from the table, and shook the rain out of her hair. Then she began the hunt through her bags for a hair tie, and did not find one. No one around had one on their wrist either. I had one holding my hair back. So I pulled it out, and gave it to her. I had more in the car, plus, as I told Donna, I should wear my hair down more often. It was just a hair tie, but to Donna, in that moment, it helped. It was kindness, it was my way of practically expressing not only God's love for her, but my love for her. Because in spite of only meeting this woman twice, she has marked my heart with love, with hope, and with strength.
How are you bringing others hope and healing today? It doesn't have to be a homeless person, it doesn't have to be a stranger even. How are you practically showing the people you love, that you love them? How are you giving them hope, helping them stand up for the umpteenth time, how are you helping to heal them?
I went downtown to a homeless shelter on Saturday and was creamed in a game of euchre, and a game of spades. Then Donna walked in. I met Donna a little over a month ago, back when it was still pretty cold. She came in Saturday wearing a huge oversize yellow fleece, which also happened to be soaking wet from the rain. As she pulled it over her head I noticed that for a top she was wearing a black tank top, and a mans suit vest. She was so thin and pale. I didn't know a lot about Donna, other then that her mom taught her to smoke and she has seizure disorders. Saturday I heard about how she was attacked by a man that used to be her boyfriend on the street, she had the wound, hidden by a bandage, on her hand to prove it.
It's easy to see physical frailty in people, physical brokenness. But how often do we take those moments, the pregnant ones right before we say something that can't be taken back, to think about what we're saying. How often do we cut people, or even ourselves with our sharp tongues? With one foul swoop, we're shattered, we've shattered others.
It's so not worth it. The damage that we enact in those moments cannot easily be fixed, words are not easily unspoken.
Our wounds are not easily fixed with a bandage. Long ago have we passed the age when our hurt is quickly forgotten by the kiss of a parent.
We are all much more fragile then we would like to believe. We strut through life as if we are unfazed by the hits, by the unmet expectations. We like to believe that if we can only get up one more time it will somehow all be better. I believe that. Even on the worst days, I get up again and again because there is hope that it will be better. I have hope.
We can be the people that hold our hands out and help other people up. Whether their wounds are physical, emotional, or psychological we can be the one that bandages their fragility in hope, kindness, love, and healing. The funniest thing I've found about hope, is that when you give it to other people, you find it for yourself.
So after Donna had removed the wet yellow fleece, she stood from the table, and shook the rain out of her hair. Then she began the hunt through her bags for a hair tie, and did not find one. No one around had one on their wrist either. I had one holding my hair back. So I pulled it out, and gave it to her. I had more in the car, plus, as I told Donna, I should wear my hair down more often. It was just a hair tie, but to Donna, in that moment, it helped. It was kindness, it was my way of practically expressing not only God's love for her, but my love for her. Because in spite of only meeting this woman twice, she has marked my heart with love, with hope, and with strength.
How are you bringing others hope and healing today? It doesn't have to be a homeless person, it doesn't have to be a stranger even. How are you practically showing the people you love, that you love them? How are you giving them hope, helping them stand up for the umpteenth time, how are you helping to heal them?
I lie the loudest when I lie to myself
I used to lie a lot. I mean a lot. I decided in hmmmm, maybe 2001 or so that I wasn't going to lie anymore, and with very few exceptions I haven't.
But there's a lot of gray area around lying sometimes. What if it's for a surprise for someone? What if it's an appropriate secret (and what are appropriate secrets)? I will tell you pretty much anything you want to know if you just ask me. However, is not volunteering the information lying?
Ok, Jake may not remember this story but here's something that I have a question about...
He and I were "going out" in high school (the high school part is important to note) His mom didn't want us to (or something, I'm still a little fuzzy on those details) so he said that he would tell her I was his girlfriend if she asked the right question. The three of us were at Taco Bell once and she asked us point blank if we were "going out", but prior to that she had hinted around but never asked us outright. So was not telling her when we knew what she was asking us lying?
So if there are things that I'm misrepresenting to people, and I know they are confused about it, or I know they are wondering about, is it lying if I omit the information instead of purposely misinforming them?
These are all things that I've wrestled with since I decided not to lie.
But I lie the loudest when I lie to myself. I still lie to myself a lot. I lie intentionally and unintentionally. I evade and duck and cover and hope that "I" don't realize what "I'm" trying to get away with. It's all so schizophrenic this dual reality that I find myself existing in, and I'm just so over it. I find the truth in the middle of the night whispers and long early morning drives.
I lie to myself about my feelings for him, about what I really want to do, about who I really want to be. I lie to myself about how I think people see me, and I lie loudest about how I see myself.
I've been asking a lot of point blank questions of myself lately...and surprisingly getting answers. I'm cleaning house literally and figuratively and I'm finding myself getting more comfortable in who I am and what I am really passionate about. It's been rough and tumble and lovely all at the same time.
But there's a lot of gray area around lying sometimes. What if it's for a surprise for someone? What if it's an appropriate secret (and what are appropriate secrets)? I will tell you pretty much anything you want to know if you just ask me. However, is not volunteering the information lying?
Ok, Jake may not remember this story but here's something that I have a question about...
He and I were "going out" in high school (the high school part is important to note) His mom didn't want us to (or something, I'm still a little fuzzy on those details) so he said that he would tell her I was his girlfriend if she asked the right question. The three of us were at Taco Bell once and she asked us point blank if we were "going out", but prior to that she had hinted around but never asked us outright. So was not telling her when we knew what she was asking us lying?
So if there are things that I'm misrepresenting to people, and I know they are confused about it, or I know they are wondering about, is it lying if I omit the information instead of purposely misinforming them?
These are all things that I've wrestled with since I decided not to lie.
But I lie the loudest when I lie to myself. I still lie to myself a lot. I lie intentionally and unintentionally. I evade and duck and cover and hope that "I" don't realize what "I'm" trying to get away with. It's all so schizophrenic this dual reality that I find myself existing in, and I'm just so over it. I find the truth in the middle of the night whispers and long early morning drives.
I lie to myself about my feelings for him, about what I really want to do, about who I really want to be. I lie to myself about how I think people see me, and I lie loudest about how I see myself.
I've been asking a lot of point blank questions of myself lately...and surprisingly getting answers. I'm cleaning house literally and figuratively and I'm finding myself getting more comfortable in who I am and what I am really passionate about. It's been rough and tumble and lovely all at the same time.
5.03.2008
Relational Dissonance
So I have this like...amazing friend Jake. He's fanfreakintastic. He just started a new blog and his first post caused the following thoughts.
Here's a link to his blog: http://anthropologicaldissonance.blogspot.com/
The post is about many things, not the least of which is about the intent of his blog. But the thing that got my gears going was about the dissonance is found in music. I never understood dissonance musically. I always thought it meant something was wrong, that it was something that needed to be fixed.
Reading Jake explaining dissonance clicked for me that I feel the same way about relationships in my "orbit". Since I was little I felt the overwhelming need for people to just get along. If I noticed dissonance then I would be in a full out panic until it was fixed, or at least until a nervous truce had been worked out.
As Jake (very) well knows I was like that in HS too (hello N and anyone else lol)...I just wanted there to be no dissonance. None at all.
It really wasn't until late last year that I really became comfortable with dissonance. That I began to see the beauty in it, the growth that comes out of it, the intimacy that is developed in relationships because of it.
There are so many factors that caused that, but I think a lot of it came from dissonance that I let just happen. Was it because I didn't have a choice, because I wasn't able to manipulate situations like I used to? Maybe. But I've been out of the manipulation game for a few years now, so that wasn't really different. I think that the dissonance with one person in particular really helped me. I don't know how to tell that person without being all awkward about it..but the dissonance was good, there was beauty in the melody of our conversations even when they were disagreeable and frustrating. I miss that a lot, which is weird because it's not really gone per say...it's just shifting into something else. Which I suppose is natural, but I still miss it.
I still get really panicky when I sense relational dissonance...but, like so many other things in this season of growth, it's getting better.
Here's a link to his blog: http://anthropologicaldissonance.blogspot.com/
The post is about many things, not the least of which is about the intent of his blog. But the thing that got my gears going was about the dissonance is found in music. I never understood dissonance musically. I always thought it meant something was wrong, that it was something that needed to be fixed.
Reading Jake explaining dissonance clicked for me that I feel the same way about relationships in my "orbit". Since I was little I felt the overwhelming need for people to just get along. If I noticed dissonance then I would be in a full out panic until it was fixed, or at least until a nervous truce had been worked out.
As Jake (very) well knows I was like that in HS too (hello N and anyone else lol)...I just wanted there to be no dissonance. None at all.
It really wasn't until late last year that I really became comfortable with dissonance. That I began to see the beauty in it, the growth that comes out of it, the intimacy that is developed in relationships because of it.
There are so many factors that caused that, but I think a lot of it came from dissonance that I let just happen. Was it because I didn't have a choice, because I wasn't able to manipulate situations like I used to? Maybe. But I've been out of the manipulation game for a few years now, so that wasn't really different. I think that the dissonance with one person in particular really helped me. I don't know how to tell that person without being all awkward about it..but the dissonance was good, there was beauty in the melody of our conversations even when they were disagreeable and frustrating. I miss that a lot, which is weird because it's not really gone per say...it's just shifting into something else. Which I suppose is natural, but I still miss it.
I still get really panicky when I sense relational dissonance...but, like so many other things in this season of growth, it's getting better.
5.02.2008
Where crying isn't secret, it's the art of how we grieve
Crying: to utter inarticulate sounds, esp. of lamentation, grief, or suffering, usually with tears.
Art: the quality, production, expression, or realm, according to aesthetic principles, of what is beautiful, appealing, or of more than ordinary significance
Grieve: To cause to be sorrowful; distress, to mourn or sorrow for
I don't like to cry. I will do everything within my power and then some to keep myself from crying. At. All. Costs.
I have hidden in bathrooms, I have given myself severe headaches swallowing the tears, I have wounded myself to keep from crying.
I find it shameful, I find it weak and unacceptable to cry. Just for me mind you, if you cry, well....just let it out, it will all be OK.
But me, not me. Crying is a secret to be kept close to the chest, hidden away like a skeleton in the closet. I tell people quite often that I'm an emotional robot.
I don't know why. I don't recall being told any of these things, or shamed for crying. Nevertheless, it is my secret that I keep.
Art: the quality, production, expression, or realm, according to aesthetic principles, of what is beautiful, appealing, or of more than ordinary significance
Grieve: To cause to be sorrowful; distress, to mourn or sorrow for
I don't like to cry. I will do everything within my power and then some to keep myself from crying. At. All. Costs.
I have hidden in bathrooms, I have given myself severe headaches swallowing the tears, I have wounded myself to keep from crying.
I find it shameful, I find it weak and unacceptable to cry. Just for me mind you, if you cry, well....just let it out, it will all be OK.
But me, not me. Crying is a secret to be kept close to the chest, hidden away like a skeleton in the closet. I tell people quite often that I'm an emotional robot.
I don't know why. I don't recall being told any of these things, or shamed for crying. Nevertheless, it is my secret that I keep.
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