Five Minute Friday: Trust

February 10, 2012

in Faith, Five Minute Friday, Rabid fear of parenting

Around here we write for five minutes flat on Fridays.

We write because we want to, not because we have to. We write for fun, for joy, for discovery.

On Fridays we just write without worrying if it’s just right or not. Won’t you join us? (<—Tweet this!)

1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. Please visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them.

OK, are you ready? Give me your best five minutes on:

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Trust…

GO

There are days when the stories I hear from friends hurt so bad it’s hard to breathe. These are things of nightmares. The reasons I wake up sweating and smelling my fear in the dark. Micah has climbed into the bed between Pete and I, his warm back all pressed up against mine.

I swallow, turn over, and put a hand out to draw comfort from all that innocence sleeping in the bed next to me, just a pillow apart.

I would build a fortress around him if I could. I would dig a moat around my Micah and Zoe and Jackson to wall them off from this world of horror stories.

I am not brave.

But I don’t have bricks thick enough of shovels strong enough, and besides, I’m sure it’s against the zoning regulations for our neighborhood.

I’m supposed to pray, they tell me. To trust these three pieces of my flesh and blood and sweat and tears to the God who was there when the bad stories I heard this week unfolded.

Trust him.

I fold my hands tightly across my chest and glare at the emptiness in front of me, all tied up in my own un-trust. Tight fists feel good. Strong. Un-surrendered. These are my children and I will fight you for them.

If only I had grown them on my own. If only I could lay claim to building their DNA with no outside help. If only I weren’t steps removed from the dust and dirt and grime of this earth that bore me first. Shaped out of God’s hand, what if I just give Him my fists.

What if I don’t try to unfurl them. What if I just clench them in the palm of His mighty Carpenter’s hand. Maybe we can fight for them side by side. I know He will not go down fighting. Even when His strategy looks different than the one I would have chosen.

He is a Father too. He knows how to fight for His children. Especially when it means surrendering Himself. I think He knows the surrender and the fight and the “Why did you forsake me?” cries.

He knows and he suffered and I am afraid but I am also drawn to His courage.

I want Him to wrap me up – this whole ball of frustration and worry – in the palm of His hand where I know it will be alright.

Even when it isn’t.

PS: I got all caught up in this one and it was 7 minutes of writing before I looked up. But 7 minutes non-stop and un-edited – typos included. Love, LJ

STOP

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OK, show me what you’ve got.
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{ 7 comments }

Because your story matters more than your stats

February 8, 2012

in Blogging, Callings, Faith

Child,” said the Voice, “I am telling you your story, not hers.
I tell no one any story but his own.”
C.S. Lewis, The Horse and His Boy (The Chronicles of Narnia p.176.

But what if my story isn’t important? What if it’s small and stitched together with load after load of laundry or hours spent trapped in the commute to work or nights spent wiping the hot heads of sick kids.

What if my story is ordinary?

Worse yet, what if I spend the hour salvaged at the end of the day – the one after the dishwasher’s been loaded, after the kitchen counter’s been wiped down, after the last homework assignment’s been finished up and the last lego thrown back into its tub – what if I spend that sacred hour on writing and no one shows up to read?

What are my words worth without a reader?

What am I worth if my story is uninteresting, unclick-worthy, unbloggable?

“I realized there was this other part of me, and it was a big part of me, that needed something outside myself to tell me who I was. And so [it] became obvious; I was very concerned with getting other people to say I was good or valuable or important because the thing that was supposed to make me feel this way was gone.” – Donald Miller, Searching for God Knows What p.44.

Our DNA is desperate to be recognized. To be heard. To be valued. And while we might write all day in our heads, our fingers hesitate to type it out for fear no one else will recognize what it cost us, what it means to us.

So we hide our stories where no one can ignore them but ourselves.

Here’s the thing, though, your story doesn’t matter because of who reads it.

Your story doesn’t matter because of how many read it.

Your story doesn’t even matter just because you wrote it.

Your story matters because it’s part of another story; one much bigger and older than you. And any words you write will draw breath from that first story. Anything you post, anything you journal, anything you scrapbook or blog or scribble out on the back of a grocery store receipt while stopped at a traffic light – the words will climb up off the page and live.

Those words will take deep gulps of breath and exhale into the lives of anyone who comes into contact with them. And their most important reader will be you.

Because someone else is writing your story alongside you. Someone else cares about the words as much as you do. Someone else has fingers folded gently over yours as you guide pen and thoughts and life across the page.

Someone else is writing through you.

So you can just let it go – the need for someone else to tell you that your story is important. Because you are already stitched into the only story that matters; the story that starts in the dark, loamy dirt of a garden and ends in the hard won, bright, shining streets of a city on a hill.

Whether you tell it in Zulu or Russian, Afrikaans or English. Whether you press publish or only whisper it to yourself as you rock babies to sleep. Whether you write it on your laptop or longhand in your journal. Your story matters because of the Word that breathes through you:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

He was with God in the beginning.

Through him all things were made;

without him nothing was made that has been made.

In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. John 1:1-4.

So, if you’ve only got one hour in the day to write, don’t spend it defeated. Spend it writing. Because maybe you, more than anyone else, will be surprised by what you read, by the story that the Word is writing in you, through you, for you.

His story. As lived by you.

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I love that you visit here. Truly. And thank you.
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{ 79 comments }

What you’re not good at is only half the story

February 6, 2012

in Sweetstuff, family

I’ve been staring at the brown wooden paneling in my daughter’s room for months because I’m too afraid to paint it.

I don’t know how to pick paint colors. Or spackle.

I’m not good at home decorating, or picking out tchotchkes or fabrics or frames. I don’t know how to sew.

My culinary skills are extremely limited and if I find time at 10 am to think about what we should have for dinner by 5pm I feel ahead in the menu planning game.

I can never seem to figure out how to properly blow-dry my hair. If any kind of event requires properly styled hair I try to schedule a hair appointment into the mix.

I’m usually fighting a losing battle against laundry and dishes and there are stains in my carpet I’ve given up on altogether. I don’t care how my sheets or towels are folded; I’m just happy if there are clean ones in the closet.

I don’t enjoy craft projects or reading children’s books aloud.

I have yet to figure out how to accessorize. I can’t make skinny jeans and knee high boots work as much as I try and despite how many different pairs or brands I’ve wrestled in fitting rooms.

I’m never going to remember to take a photo a day or plan a shopping trip around coupons.

There’s a soft spot under my chin where the top of my daughter’s head fits perfectly.

I know how to dance with her curled into the side of my face as I two step her to sleep.

I know that Jackson is ticklish on his thighs and that special spot where his freckle stands out against his neck. The angrier Micah is the more I know to hold and love him. I know how to pat Jack’s head just so to help him fall asleep at night and which stuffed animals Micah needs in his bed.

I can tell by Zoe’s cry whether she needs her pacifier, a bottle or me.

After fifteen years I can still make Peter laugh like nobody else can.

I know how to turn anything into a story that will hold my kids wide-eyed in anticipation. I can growl and wrestle and pounce like an African lioness and turn my children into devoted cubs even on the worst of days.

Give me a hotdog and half a slice of bread and I can give you a tasty toasted snack to make even my pickiest eater happy.

I am good at giving encouragement. I know the right words for lifting the tired spirits of new moms. I make a champion ice cream and strawberry sundae. I am the chaser away of bad dreams and singer of nonsense songs.

I have taught my children how to dance in the rain. Literally.

I can work through the chaos of ninjas and drums and a kitchen table piled high with leftover everything. Words come to me while I do dishes and writing them down never leaves me empty.

I sing off key and usually with the wrong lyrics, but it has never stopped me.

I have learned how to cheer women on rather than be threatened by their success and I will teach my daughter how to do the same.

I know Jesus loves me and has built gifts into me that serve Him and fill me up with joy in the process. I am slowly learning contentment in the size of my house, the shape of my thighs, and the end of my days.

I stop to celebrate sunsets.

I am good at these things.

Your turn – go ahead, let’s share what we’re good at, for a change.

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{ 56 comments }

Five Minute Friday: Real

February 3, 2012

in Blogging, Five Minute Friday

Around here we write for five minutes flat on Fridays.

We write because we want to, not because we have to. We write for fun, for joy, for discovery.

We just write without worrying if it’s just write or not.

Won’t you join us?

1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. Please visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them.

OK, are you ready? Give me your best five minutes on:

::

Real…

GO

We sit in a circle and no one shines a spotlight. We just open our hands to listen. Sometimes to reach out to touch a knee or offer a tissue. Sometimes to wipe our own eyes at the wonder of what makes her brave; or how she’s telling your own story.

We listen. We discover what a powerful gift that is.

Stories are never really new, are they. Instead, they are the retelling of a thousand miles walked by women and mothers through the centuries. Thunderstorms come to us all. Never turn away a friend with an umbrella.

So we let it rain here – in this room 10 steps away from the sanctuary. This room with the orange chairs and table that’s always in the wrong place. We let it rain the real feelings of the week past and no one tries to stop it. Instead we listen and offer arms to shelter some of the storm.

Friends are a safe place.

Stories can pick different endings sometimes.

We write this middle part together. We read each other’s eyes. Mascara runs. But there is always a bowl of chocolates and someone quick to laugh.

This is how bones heal.

STOP

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OK, show me what you’ve got.
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{ 27 comments }

Because real life is never as pretty as the Internet pretends it is, but real life friends are even better

February 2, 2012

in (in)RL, Blogging, Girlfriends

So I’m leading this thing I’m really excited about called (in) real life or (in)RL for snazzy short. And I’m loving it, and I’m feeling the love connected to all these awesome women from all over the world when God asks me in that whispery/naggy voice that shows up in the back of my head,

“who are your in real life people?”

Well, duh, I feel like saying –as I point at the Internet. Them God, check out how totally awesome they are and how we connect and isn’t our on line community just the coolest thing ever.

To which God replies, “your real life people – where are they?”

And I get uncomfortable goosebumps.

It occurs to me it’s been a while since I had some real life friends who lived, you know, in my zip code.

My Internet friends are wonderful and brilliant and encouraging and I love them so much I wish they lived next door. But they don’t. I try not to hold this against them.

And I ignore the God whisper/nag and go about my business.

Then my friend, Nester, writes about how to build an automatic friendship bench.

Then a Bible study leader’s kit shows up in my mailbox. It’s from Jennie Allen, it’s called STUCK, and it’s all about getting past our fake smiles to what’s aching underneath.

I ignore it.

I put it on the top shelf of the playroom toy rack.

I ignore it some more.

It falls down.

I use it to prop up my computer while I’m Skyping. Some days I alternate and use it as a footrest. {Sorry Jennie}

The God nagging gets louder.

The box stares at me.

Then a few Sundays later I find myself walking up to Laura after church. And I’m horrified to hear myself ask her if she’d be interested in a Bible study with me. She says yes.

I haven’t even opened the box yet. I have barely any idea what it’s about.

Other people want to join the study and advertise it. I want to hide and make sure only 4 people at the most show up. Thirteen arrive the first night. And it gets real right away.

Turns out I’m not the only one who was desperately unaware she was desperate for real life community.

So it’s great and awesome and I have long pep talks with myself about “keeping it real” and “leading from a place of honesty,” which is all good and well until the thing with the bratwursts happens.

Stupid bratwursts.

I’m getting ready for my Tuesday night Bible study of awesomeness, and I can see why God had been nagging at me for so long – because studying His word with people you actually get to hang with in person – well, it is powerful.

I’ve read the word, I’ve done the homework, I’ve prayed, and I’m ready to get my Bible study on.

But then Pete comes home for dinner with nothing but bratwursts. And for reasons that escape me this sets me grinding my teeth and muttering under my breath.

“Where are the mashed potatoes?” I ask. “Where are the sides or buns or anything else that would transform this into a meal?” Mutter mutter, grind grind, stomp stomp, hand slammed on counter, kids wide-eyed and confused.

He stays calm and sane.

I spiral into doom.

Because once I’m over the bratwurst crisis I’m faced with the “I’m-supposed-to-be-leading-Bible-study-in-this-foul-temper-tantrum” crisis.

Ugh. Woe is me. Woe-r is Pete.

Because he is calm and rational and his wife is a loon. But lucky for me he is also easy to make up with – we do. And next thing I’m driving the white minivan down 495 and feeling all kinds of relief that I dodged that bullet – I mean, how awkward would it have been if anyone had known what just went down.

Enter a chuckle from sources unknown.

And in my head I hear Jennie Allen again, “We all have our issues. Most of us just wear a cute bob or smile to cover them up. We’re never as sweet as we appear…Pretense and pretending have never really been God’s thing.”

I want to pound my head on the steering wheel. Really – this is real life community? I’m going to have to fess up to the battle of the bratwurst if I want to lead this group?

Yes.

I did.

We were all able to laugh.

And then we were all able to share.

And then we were all able to cry.

It was a good start.

Because of Jennie Allen and friendship benches and God’s insistence that relationship is transformative when it happens in person.  And bratwursts, let’s not forget the bratwursts.

I don’t know when last you spent more than a Sunday morning with other women of faith. I don’t know when last you cried the ugly cry with someone sitting across the room from you rather than just on the other side of a screen or blog comment box.

But take it from someone who’s learning – they’re not the same.

Sweet, wonderful woman reading this, it’s so incredibly worth it to find your own zip code people. No matter how strange, awkward, backwards, or inconvenient the process is.

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{ 35 comments }

Because sometimes empty is better than full {an invitation}

February 1, 2012

in (in) courage, (in)RL, Blogging, Girlfriends

For a long time I felt like a pitcher.

Full to the brim. But with nowhere and no one to pour out into. I would wake up and get up and go to work and come home and make supper and love on my kids and my man and go to bed still feeling like my pitcher full hadn’t found the empty it needed.

It was a long frustrating two and a half years.

During that time I started blogging.

I started pouring out a few words a few nights a week and when I went to bed I discovered that I’d given away a little something.

After a while the words turned into a steady stream and some of them filled glasses at other tables. I was still working full time at a job that didn’t seem to fit me, but at nights I was pouring out the most satisfying encouragement into other women and discovering the wonder of being filled up by their words.

(in)courage was one of those places.

Holley and Stephanie invited me to write with them. To join them in their calling to encourage the hearts of women. To create a place where women could feel welcome, just as they are. Where we could all put our dirty, sandy feet up on the coffee table and tell our real, hard stories. A place where people would listen.

A place where women were brave enough to be vulnerable.

Pouring into (in)courage emptied me and left me feeling the most satisfied I can remember.

For nearly a year I wrote once a month for (in)courage. It gave me community, a place to dream, and the satisfaction of pouring out my ideas, creativity and passion for encouraging women.

Then in the summer of 2010 (in)courage and DaySpring invited me to join their team as the community manager for (in)courage and social media manager for DaySpring.

I jumped with both feet.

Since then I don’t remember ever feeling like my pitcher was an awkward accessory. It’s just that it’s not enough.

In June last year we felt the prickles of God telling us that one website couldn’t possibly pour out enough to fill up all the women coming looking for living water.

Instead He wanted to connect the women in real life community so they could pour love and encouragement and support and Jesus sisterhood right into one another’s parched cups. Without having to leave a blog comment. Without having to travel across the country to a conference. Without having to worry about baby sitters or days off work or plane tickets, hotel rooms or high heels.

He wanted to bring the conference right to the women He loves. We call it (in)real life or (in)RL.

This is me talking a bit about that dream. Click here if you can’t see the video.

You’re so invited you know. It’s this April 27 & 28 and only costs $10 to register and you get a free T-shirt and Simply Marvelous card pack with that.

On Friday afternoon we’ll kick things off with a community keynote {a lot like this awesome sauce trailer} that you can tune into from home.

And Saturday? Saturday’s the exciting one. Saturday’s the chance to step out and connect with local (in)courage friends you didn’t know lived nearby. There’ll be video content that meetups can tune into, which explore the topic of gritty, beautiful, messy, real life community together.

Can you imagine? Getting to connect beyond the blog box?

What a holy wonder.

Oh say yes – come and join us – nearly 500 women are already planning on meeting up in 250 cities all over the world! You can find the (in)courage meetup that’s closest to you right over here. And if you’re feeling brave, why not grab a girlfriend and host one yourself?

(in)real life. It’s what we’re made for, after all.

Messy, wonderful, redemptive community. All you have to do is pick up a pitcher.

And if I haven’t convinced you, tune into Bonnie’s place tomorrow – all 30 of us from (in)courage are gonna take turns sharing this month why we’d love to have you join us for (in)RL this April!

{ 15 comments }

“Because words can build a bridge” or “Why I blog and why you should too”

Sometimes Walmart is as good a place as any for a love story